


this tornado loves you

by sameboots



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Catelyn Stark’s home for wayward scientists, F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and none for Hyle Hunt goodbye, everyone runs toward tornadoes and away from their feelings, four for you jaime Lannister you go Jaime lannister, meterologist AU which somehow wasn’t a tag already, mutual pining for an ex, previously resolved sexual tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2020-11-09 10:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20851769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sameboots/pseuds/sameboots
Summary: Everyone chases tornadoes instead of institutional power. Jaime Lannister, badly injured in a vehicle crash while chasing, turns back up in Brienne Tarth’s life in the name of research. Brienne is less than thrilled to see him, which is to say nothing of her fiancé Hyle Hunt’s reaction. The Twister AU that more than one person asked for, somehow.--“What are you really doing here, Jaime?”He looks caught, the muscle in his jaw standing out in stark relief. “I’m here to see the launch ofOathkeeper.”She may not know the man Jaime is now, who he’s become in the past several years, but she still knows when he’s trying to bullshit her. She doesn’t know what he hopes to accomplish by showing up like this, acting as if he has any right--. She doesn’t care. Shedoesn’t.“You can stay for the launch. It was your idea,” she concedes, voice as flat as she can manage. “But after that, you should go back to your real life. We won’t be your summer vacation.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angel_deux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_deux/gifts).

> AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
I will never stop thanking bethanyactually profusely for putting up with me constantly. I e-mail her and say, "Hey, I accidentally wrote 7,000 words of fic yesterday, and only 2,000 are for the current WIP you're betaing for me?" And she doesn't blink! Or not where I can see her. 
> 
> JB Week is going on right now and the first day's fic prompt was "freaky weather". It was 7:30 AM and my brain piped up with, "Remember how it's been your lifelong dream to write a Twister AU?" Then my brain supplied a scene that happens later in the fic. Then my brain went ahead and spit out two full chapters in a few hours. 
> 
> So, really, before you think this is too weird, this is actually wish fulfillment for me! A wish 23 years in the making. TWENTY-THREE YEARS. Also, this is angel_deux's fault and I'm gifting it to her whether she likes it or not. 
> 
> Oh, and also ddagent who did NOTHING to dissuade me and instead egged me on.

Jaime stares at her across the corn field. Tall, blonde, broad and muscular, face in a familiar concentrated scowl. Gods, but he’s missed her. He’s missed her stubborn mouth, her wind-tangled hair, her crooked teeth catching at her chapped lips. He still remembers the smell of her shampoo, and the faint scent of the cheap detergent they all shared on the road. 

She moves among the crew, his old friends and colleagues, people he’s barely spoken to in five years. For a while, Podrick tried, sending Jaime text after text telling him how sad Brienne was, how much she missed him, how much they all missed him. But even those trailed off, and eventually he deleted them, if only to prevent himself from reading them in the middle of the night on the worst days of his recovery. 

For some reason, Jaime kept the texts from Catelyn ripping him to shreds for his weakness. 

Brienne turns around to head back to the large satellite setup and make adjustments to it. Even from this distance, he can see the gnarled scar tissue that dominates her cheek. He rubs the skin above his prosthetic, the sight of her making his missing hand ache and itch, the nerve endings reminding him of what he once had. 

He gets out of the truck. The sound of his door slamming shut finally brings their attention to where he stands. Podrick, Catelyn, and Peck look shocked. Arya and Sandor look mutinous. The new weedy-looking man--Hyle, Jaime thinks--looks confused. And Brienne...Brienne looks at him and her face drains of all color, her lips tremble in a way so familiar it makes his stomach hurt. 

He sees her mouth move. He knows she’s said his name, even if he can’t hear her voice. Hyle’s head snaps to look at her, and when he glances back at Jaime, there’s a hatred in his face that makes Jaime want to laugh. _That’s right, Hunt. You _should _feel threatened._

Jaime takes a deep, bracing breath and treks through the overgrown grass to where they all stand. Brienne starts to lift her hand to touch her ruined cheek, only to drop it quickly, her mouth thinning to a flat, unhappy line. 

“Hey guys.” He lifts his own hand awkwardly. 

Everyone stares for a moment, before Pod pushes his way forward and wraps Jaime in a bear hug. When he pulls away, a large grin on his face, he claps Jaime on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

Not everyone is quite as happy to see him. Sandor looks him up and down with a particular sort of scorn before saying, “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

Jaime’s pulse thumps hard in his temple. “I’m back.”

“Back?” Catelyn asks, eyes narrowed. 

He affects a neutral tone, trying to project the easy sort of confidence expected of him. “I heard through the grapevine that something big was in the works.” 

It’s Arya’s turn to spit a question at him. “Your weatherman grapevine?” She says weatherman like it’s a curse. 

“We prefer meteorologist,” Jaime says automatically, a fraction defensively. Everyone just stares at him. He cuts his eyes to Brienne for only a second. She’s whipcord tense, her neck flushed instead of her cheeks, and he still remembers that means she’s furious, not embarrassed. Gods, he wants to go to her and touch her, prove to himself that she’s real. He sighs, dropping the smarm that fits like a too-small suit now. “Look, I just want to see if it works. If _Oathkeeper_ succeeds, I think I earned the right to witness it with my own eyes.”

There’s a choked noise off to the side, and he recognizes it as Brienne, knows it’s a sound of distress. He looks at her, and the minute their eyes lock, catching for the first time in half a decade, she looks as if he’s slapped her. Without a word, she turns her back on him and disappears into her van. 

+

Brienne’s hands have never fascinated her before, but all she can do is stare at her callused, masculine fingers, curl them over and over, pick at her ragged cuticles.

“Are you okay?”

She startles and looks up to find Catelyn standing in the doorway of their research van. 

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Brienne asks, her voice sounding flat and expression blank. 

Catelyn’s face tightens with worry. Brienne _hates_ it, wants to throw something against the wall just to release the pent-up … frustration, anger, grief. Catelyn walks slowly toward her, then combs a hand through Brienne’s knotted hair. Brienne’s throat tightens at the motherly affection. She wants to lean into the embrace, wants to feel small and held and safe. 

“We’ll send him away,” Catelyn offers. “If Arya can’t scare him enough to make him run away, Sandor can literally lift him and carry him off.”

Brienne snorts half-heartedly. “It’s fine. _I’m_ fine.” Brienne turns her face up to Catelyn. The care, the /love/, on her face makes Brienne’s chest clench. Catelyn, Podrick, the entire team, kept her going through the grief and pain. She knows how protective they are. Sandor would carry Jaime back to his truck and make him rue the day he was even born, much less the day he decided to burst back into her life, an unwelcome battering ram against the carefully constructed walls she built around her bruised heart. 

“Brie,” Catelyn says, and her eyes are just so _sad_. 

Brienne can’t stand the sight of it. “He won’t stay,” she says, doesn’t know if she’s trying to convince herself, or simply stating an inarguable fact. “We’ll launch _Oathkeeper_ and he’ll leave again. It’s only for a little while.”

Catelyn continues to comb her fingers through Brienne’s hair, her fingers slowly making it soft and wispy, like dandelion fluff instead of the straw it normally is. 

“He can’t hurt me anymore,” Brienne says, firmly, assuredly. It _is_ true. It has to be. 

“He never stopped hurting you.”

Brienne jerks away from Catelyn’s touch. The kindness burns just as much as the anger she felt at Jaime’s presumption that he still has a place here. But her reaction only deepens the lines of worry around Catelyn’s mouth and eyes. 

“It doesn’t make any difference,” Brienne says, crossing her arms across her body. “And besides--besides, I--I’m with Hyle.” There’s an edge of desperation in her voice. “I love Hyle. Jaime is my past. Hyle is my future.” She looks into Catelyn’s eyes again, ignores the sympathy in them. “Hyle is _reliable_.”

Even as she says it, she knows how dispassionate it is -- but then, that’s Hyle. Hyle is simple and uncomplicated. As loyal as an old dog. She--she cares about him a great deal. She’s going to marry him, and she’ll be happy. She will. 

Jaime Lannister is so far from dispassionate, he doesn’t even belong in the same sentence as the word. Being near Jaime Lannister, _with_ him, feels like being set on fire and simply being glad for the heat. But fire burns until you’re ash, a pile of gray death, cold and swept away by the faintest of breezes. 

Brienne is just so tired of being burned. 

++

As genuinely fascinating as the information Pod’s dumping on Jaime is, he finds himself distracted. He doesn’t know what he expected after being gone for so long with no contact. Anger, maybe, but the actionable sort, the kind that led to a screaming match, or a vicious against-the-wall, pants half-off, shirts pushed up, tooth-and-nail fuck. Hell, even a fist to his jaw would’ve been more welcome than silence and the sight of her back as she walked away. 

A sharp, angry little fist comes out of nowhere, making contact with his ribs. “Seven hells, Arya!” he says before he even turns to find the furious, mini-Ned Stark glaring up at him. 

“There’s more where that came from,” she warns him. 

Gods, he’s really missed _everyone_. Not just Brienne. He’s even missed the almost-never-concealed contempt that the youngest Stark daughter has for him. He laughs and gets a fist to the gut for his mistake. 

He grabs her hand before she can draw it back to her side. “You would attack a poor, defenseless one-handed man?”

“Oh, fuck off.” She glares at him. “Literally. Fuck off to whichever hole you crawled your way out of. We don’t need you here anymore.”

“I seem to remember you didn’t need me here back when, either,” he says. “If memory serves, your favorite statement was, ‘We could do with fewer rich, blond, useless douchecanoes.’ Have your revised your opinion since?” He smirks at the snarl that wrinkles her nose like an angry puppy. “Or is it just that Hyle pales in comparison?”

“Don’t,” Arya says sharply. “Hyle’s been really good to Brienne.” 

Jaime’s lip curls involuntarily. 

“Better than you, at any rate. Not that that’s hard.”

“I’m not leaving until--”

“What? Until you break her heart _again_?” Arya shakes her head, face drawn in disgust. “Did you just sense she had a chance at happiness and decide to piss all over it?”

“I came back for the launch.” 

Arya snorts. “Yeah, and Sandor’s as delicate as a pretty maiden.” She walks away from him. Apparently, that’s the new power move. Leave him feeling as isolated from the team as possible, let him feel alone, as if he hasn’t since he left. “Leave her alone,” Arya calls over her shoulder. 

“I’m here for the launch!” he calls after her. 

Arya flips him off without looking back. 

“They’ll get over it,” Pod offers, an expression of concern on his face when Jaime looks over at him.

“I don’t know if they will,” Jaime mutters. “Everyone has always worshipped Brienne, and rightfully so.” Pod looks at him as if he’s grown a second head. “What?”

“Brienne’s not the only one you hurt by leaving.” Pod says, somewhere between hurt and offended. “You didn’t just leave her, you left _all_ of us. We were a family.” 

Jaime just stares at Pod. His words slice at Jaime like a knife. “Pod…”

Pod looks away from him. “I gotta go get more cables.”

And then he walks away, too. 

++

Brienne’s been hiding in her van for two hours under the guise of reviewing forecasting data. The fact that no one bothers to point out that she’s shit at that part of this whole enterprise is a little offensive, even if she is grateful for it. She keeps tapping her pencil against the desktop and scrolling through seemingly endless strings of statistical data, not even halfway paying attention to any of it. Sandor will be looking at it too anyway. They may not argue, but they also know good and damn well what she’s actually doing. 

She startles when someone knocks on the open door. It’s Jaime, looking like a sad puppy. He’s just as beautiful as ever, even if there’s a bit more gray in his beard and at his temples. Infuriatingly, it makes him even more handsome and appealing. When Brienne dies, she will truly have some choice words for the gods. 

“What?” she asks him shortly, finally interrupting the heavy silence. 

“Can we talk?” he asks.

She can still recognize the fear on his face. It’s the same expression he wore before the first time he kissed her, and right after when she hadn’t responded. He’d started to apologize before she’d cut him off with her own mouth, and-- 

She steps out of the van, carefully enough to make sure she doesn’t touch him. She leads him around to the other side, away from the prying eyes of the rest of her team. She crosses her arms across her chest and leans against the side of the vehicle, hoping he won’t see the way her hands tremble at the sight of him. She averts her gaze to some far point over his shoulder. It feels like hours, even if it’s only seconds, before she cracks first. “Well? I have nothing to say, so unless you--”

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, almost as if he didn’t mean to say it. It’s like being punched in the face, or the heart, or everywhere all at once. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.” The timidity of his voice makes her want to throttle him. “I was drugged out of my mind and in pain and--”

“And all of the years after you recovered?” Brienne interrupts, not wanting any more of his useless excuses. “You couldn’t find a phone? A computer? A godsdamned post office?”

He blinks, and, oh, his eyes still make her burn. “I wasn’t--”

“No, you weren’t,” Brienne says, desperate to stop him. It doesn’t matter what the end of that sentence is. He _didn’t_, and that’s all that really matters. “What are you really doing here, Jaime?”

He looks caught, the muscle in his jaw standing out in stark relief. “I’m here to see the launch of _Oathkeeper._”

She may not know the man Jaime is now, who he’s become in the past several years, but she still knows when he’s trying to bullshit her. She doesn’t know what he hopes to accomplish by showing up like this, acting as if he has any right--. She doesn’t care. She _doesn’t_.

“You can stay for the launch. It was your idea,” she concedes, voice as flat as she can manage. “But after that, you should go back to your real life. We won’t be your summer vacation.” 

She turns to make her way back inside, but his voice stops her short.. 

“Brienne.”

She can hear the soft fall of his footsteps in the grass-covered dirt. She spins to face him again. 

“I think--I _know_, I’m seeing clearly again. I lost myself for a while, that’s what I was going to say. I wasn’t myself. But I’m finding my way back.” 

The quick slap of panic leaves her tingling from head to toe, like a static shock. “Good for you, Jaime.” 

She leaves again, ignoring him saying her name again, sounding helpless, leaving her feeling helpless.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Lannister’s might cause problems. Catelyn is everyone’s favorite (hot) mom. And Jaime manages to infuriate Hyle with how he eats potato chips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait to put this up until the next chapter of _We Make the Rules_, but some extremely bad real life stuff is going on and this was ready, so I thought I could distract myself with being able to talk about my silly little fanfictions. 
> 
> Thank you to bethanyactually for the beta and for my friends with their support.
> 
> Oh, and to my readers for the response. Who knew people would read an AU based on a 1990s disaster movie!

Catelyn finds him sitting in the bed of his truck, cramming handfuls of peanuts into his mouth in a desperate attempt to calm his roiling stomach. He smiles at her automatically, the smile that just tilts his mouth at one corner, the one he used to employ to make Brienne flush from her hair to her chest. It never worked on Catelyn, though. She looks at him like she can’t believe he’s even attempting it. 

“I was wondering when my favorite ginger would find me.” 

“My only competition for years was Tormund,” Catelyn says. “You’ll forgive me if I’m not terribly flattered.”

“I would have said my favorite person, but…” he shrugs. “Have you come to read me your own version of the riot act? I think I’ve got the message.” 

“Have you?”

“I have a rapidly swelling bruise from your lovely daughter’s fist. Sandor has threatened to disembowel me through my mouth. Peck looked _deeply_ disappointed. And I think I made Pod cry.” He ticks each of them off on a finger as he goes down the list. “Hyle hasn’t bothered to tell me to stay away from his woman, but I assume that’s not far behind.” He shoves another fistful of peanuts into his mouth. “Oh, right, and Brienne told me to get fucked.”

“She didn’t say that.”

“No, but that’s what she meant.”

Cat rolls her eyes but walks over to hop up on the tailgate next to him. He offers her the bag of peanuts, but she waves it away with her hand. 

“Can you blame us?” she asks him. “You didn’t have to see her after you left. You walked away. _We_ had to watch her not only heal from her own physical injuries, but work through the grief of losing yet _another_ person she loved.” 

Jaime normally does a good job of being shameless, but there’s no escaping the suffocating shame that swamps him. “I didn’t think…”

“You understand that’s the problem, right?” Catelyn sighs, but she’s slid firmly into mom-mode and it makes him ache. “You proved every fear she had about you was correct.” 

“I didn’t mean to.”

“That really doesn’t matter.” 

Jaime faces Cat finally. There’s still sympathy in her eyes, but it’s layered with anger and, worst of all, deep disappointment. 

“You knew her, or we thought you did. She lost so much at such a young age, and if that wasn’t _enough_, she had to go through life as she is.” 

The old fury he felt whenever Brienne would explain her school years to him flares to life again. But Catelyn quells him with a look before he can interrupt her. 

“There’s no use puffing up for a fight that won’t happen. Life isn’t fair and Brienne knows that better than any of us, but you gave her something she didn’t think she would ever have. For the first time in her life, she got to know what it was like for someone to love her, and want her, and know her, and you threw it back in her face at the first major bump in the road.”

Jaime has to look away from her. It would be easier if she was furious like the rest of them. It’s those damned motherly instincts that ruin him every time. He jumps slightly when her hand cups his shoulder and squeezes. 

“I know you were broken too, when you found her, but you can’t know what it was like to grow up as Brienne had to. Your leaving killed that last flicker of hope for romance she had within her.” Catelyn says, closer to him now, giving him comfort even though he doesn’t deserve it. 

“I thought I was protecting both of us,” he says, the grief choking him, filling him until it’s all but sucking the oxygen from his lungs. “I thought I would be a burden. That I would hold her back. I was terrified she would resent me for that, and we would end up bitter and hateful.” 

“Brienne doesn’t have a hateful bone in her body. She would have loved you through all of it, the pain and the anger and the slow recovery. She would have done it freely, without question.”

“I know,” Jaime admits. 

They sit in silence, and he turns into her body more, feeling like a child asking for forgiveness. 

“I hope you know,” Catelyn says after a short time, low and sad, “if she had done the same to you, if she’d walked away when you needed her most, we wouldn’t welcome her back with open arms either. This isn’t just about how much we all love Brienne. We loved you, too. Many of us still love you, but you can’t expect to show up and be welcomed back like nothing happened.”

“Do you think they’ll ever forgive me?” he asks, instead of asking what he really wants to know. If there’s any way Brienne will ever forgive him for what he did. 

Catelyn looks at him, all-knowing, not for one second missing the implied question. 

“I don’t know,” she finally answers him. “But you won’t find out if you run away from their anger and hurt. You can’t just hide in your truck. You have to prove that you’re actually back. Pretending it’s just for _Oathkeeper_ won’t do you any favors. They think you’re here as a passing fancy right now. So yes, they hate you, and they will continue to hate you so long as they think that.” She slides off the tailgate and brushes dirt off her jeans. “It’s up to you. Are you going to try or are you going to take the craven path yet again?”

\--

A shadow falls over Brienne where she stands looking at weather reports from several different sources. 

“What do you want, Sandor?” 

“I’ll kill him for you.”

Brienne can’t keep the smile off her face. “He’s not worth the legal fees,” she says, trying for light and airy. She doesn’t quite get there. 

He circles around to face her. He’s the only person in her life that makes her feel small, damn near delicate. Whatever he finds in her face is enough for him to move on from the topic of Jaime. 

“What’s it looking like?” he nods to the computer. 

“Tomorrow and the day after will be the big days,” Brienne answers, relieved to finally be talking about work. “Bad for the residents, good for us.” Every now and then, it bothers Brienne that her good fortune is so frequently other people’s nightmare. It’s like gambling, but with someone else’s lives, and without their consent.

Sandor grunts in agreement. “You heard any rumblings about my brother?”

Brienne’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Not specifically. I assume he’ll be around, it’s one of the biggest storm systems in a century.” Sandor doesn’t look mollified, and dread creeps up Brienne’s spine. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I don’t know anything for sure...” 

“But?”

“But,” he says slowly. “There’s a rumor that the Lannisters have funded their own advanced warning system prototype.” Brienne feels like she’s going to throw up. Surely, _surely_ no matter how angry Jaime was, he wouldn’t--_if he had, why would he be here_? “Heard they call it Widow’s Wail. They think they’re real funny.” 

Now the bile really does rise up in her throat. Sandor clasps her around the arm, grounding her. She takes a few deep breaths before shaking her arm loose of his grip. “I’m fine.”

“The offer to kill him still stands,” Sandor says gruffly. 

“No, no,” Brienne says faintly, shaking her head. “Jaime--he wouldn’t do _that_. I’m sure it’s just a rumor to throw me off my game.” She glances up at Sandor to find him looking dubious. “He wouldn’t.”

“Whatever you say,” Sandor relents. “But the offer doesn’t expire. Just say the word.”

\--

Jaime wanders back into base camp to see if there’s any supper to be had. Everyone is seated around a big citronella lamp. It smells like some former, happier version of his life. 

He clears his throat, and every single head turns toward him. The expressions range from pure, undiluted hatred (Hyle, Sandor, and Arya) to disappointment (Pod and Peck), to a touch of pride (Cat), to…Brienne. There’s not one word or phrase that conveys the emotion in her eyes when she sees him. 

“Any chance I could bum some food?” Jaime asks. 

Everyone stares at him for so long he’s tempted to tuck tail and run, but he forces himself to stand there and take whatever they fling his way. 

Finally, Cat gestures to a folding table set up with food and says, “It’s only hot dogs and burgers, but there’s plenty for you to have some.”

Arya shoots her mother a mutinous glare. Catelyn only gives her a warning look in return. Arya huffs, crossing her arms and slouching in her camp chair, looking more like a fifteen-year-old than the 22-year-old she is. 

Jaime makes his way to the table, feeling every single eye track him, but somehow he’s still aware that Brienne studiously _isn’t_. There isn’t an extra chair for him, once he’s loaded the plastic plate up with food. He makes to sit on the grass before Cat slips out of her chair and onto a cooler filled with soft drinks and water bottles. He smiles at her gratefully and sits down. 

The silence is nearly unbearable. He’s never been with this crowd of mad people and been able to hear the gentle chirping of crickets hiding out in the grass. He would break the silence, but his own tongue seems to be tied in a knot. 

He breathes a sigh of relief when Brienne finally speaks. “We need to move in the direction of Felwood at first light. The air isn’t warm enough further west to get much action. If we stop at Felwood, it’ll give us time to set up properly and make sure we’re getting good data.”

Things carry on as normal after that, as far Jaime can tell at least. They mostly talk shop, a mixture of science that Jaime tracks and inside jokes that he’s no longer privy to. Everyone wanders off to their own sleeping trailers one by one until it’s only him, Hyle, Brienne, and Cat. Cat leaves with a look at Jaime that clearly communicates that he needs to watch himself or he’ll have to answer to her. He gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

Then it’s just him and the two lovebirds. 

Hyle glares at him as Jaime eats every scrap of potato chip one fragment at a time. Brienne leans over to say something to Hyle. It’s quiet enough Jaime can’t make out what it is, but based on Hyle’s audible protest, glare at Jaime, and Brienne’s uncomfortable shifting in her chair, it’s about him. 

Hyle stands up, face beet-red with anger. “I’ll crash with Peck tonight. Have a good _chat_,” he all but spits. 

“_Hyle_,” Brienne calls after him, but he ignores her with a dismissive wave. Brienne sighs heavily and closes her eyes for a beat before looking at Jaime. 

Every time he gets a glimpse of her eyes, he wonders how anyone—himself included—could ever think she was unattractive. 

“Does your truck have four-wheel drive?”

Jaime blinks, confused for a moment. He doesn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t that. “Of course,” he says. “What’s the use of a truck that doesn’t?”

He thinks she might be fighting off a small smile of agreement, but it’s dark and he’s desperate for anything soft. “Are you comfortable driving by yourself?” 

“What?” Jaime asks, so offended he forgets his resolve to be complacent. 

“Oh, excuse me,” Brienne says sarcastically. “I was just worried. It’s been so long since you were in the field, and I’ve seen that pretty new truck. You know how it gets. That paint will be scuffed in the first few hours.”

“I don’t _care_ about the paint on my truck.” 

They glare and Jaime can feel that old heat--only a faint whisper, but it’s there, lifting the hairs on the nape of his neck. Brienne sucks in a breath, her cheeks flushing faintly pink, her eyes turning a dark, stormy blue that he remembers _vividly_. Then she blinks, looks away from him, and bites her bottom lip so hard he knows it’ll be tender and swollen for hours. He remembers that, too. 

When she finally looks at him again, her expression is back to neutral. It hurts in a way he didn’t expect. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” she says.

“What question?”

“Are you comfortable driving yourself tomorrow?” she asks slowly, like he’ll have trouble understanding her otherwise. 

“Why?” he can’t help asking, his tone automatically falling into that teasing flirtation they once had. “Are you offering? Want to see what we can get up to for old time’s sake?”

Brienne blanches. 

Jaime knows he’s fucked it all up like always, his mouth moving faster than his better judgment. 

“I’ll take that as yes,” she says, her voice trembling slightly as she rises to her feet. “Be ready first thing or we’ll leave without you.” 

She doesn’t give him time to respond and he doesn’t try to call after her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hyle _respects_ me, unlike some people.”
> 
> “Oh, my bad. I’m sorry I did my best to protect you.”
> 
> “Protect me from _what_?”
> 
> “From your decision-making skills!”
> 
> “_My_ decision-making skills?!”
> 
> “Yes,_ your_\--”
> 
> “_Hey_!” Brienne and Jaime turn as one to Arya, both breathing heavily. “Can you two pause the foreplay long enough to decide what we’re going to do about Brienne’s truck?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to bethanyactually for the beta! 
> 
> I do just want to say that updates should become more regular again. We had a family health crisis involving one of my stepkids the day after I posted the last chapter. That took precedence over everything, but things are finally easing up in my personal life again 
> 
> You know, not counting my wedding in 11 days.

Hyle’s unhappy. 

Catelyn’s concerned. 

Arya is angry. 

Sandor is looming. 

Peck and Pod are sad.

Brienne is … overwhelmed. 

She’s spent five years getting over Jaime Lannister. For him to show up as if he never left--it’s like being stabbed in the gut. 

She’s happy with Hyle. She _is_. He may not be so passionate it eclipses all reason. He may not seem to know what she’s going to do before she does in the field. He doesn’t make her every nerve ending tingle with the mere brush of his fingers. But she feels so _safe_ with him. She feels like she can protect herself.

But the _sight_ of Jaime, the sound of his voice, the hot glint in his eyes when they argue--it makes her throb with something she hasn’t felt since he walked out on her, on _all_ of them. __

_ _She’s up before dawn breaks. She needs these moments, especially before what promises to be a heavy day. There’s a certain smell in the air with a storm system, the looming hint of rain and the stir of grass from the gentle breezes that threaten worse. She likes to feel the humidity heavy on her skin; it grounds her, reminds her how quickly things can go wrong if she forgets the weight. _ _

_ _He’s up early, too. They had always had coffee and granola bars together, fingers tangled between their camping chairs. It feels wrong to see him slide out of the cab of an unfamiliar pickup, grimacing as he stretches and cracks his stiff joints. _ _

_ _A lump lodges in her throat when he lifts his right arm to waist level and rubs at the stump of his wrist. He’s not wearing the prosthetic and just the sight of the scarred skin makes her go back to all the terror and pain and grief from the accident. _ _

_ _He looks up as if sensing her gaze, his eyes locking with hers instantly. He doesn’t need to search for her. He’s never needed to, not from the first day. She sees his shoulders rise with a heavy breath and then he’s striding across the field to her. _ _

_ _For a moment, only a moment, she allows herself to imagine that he’ll cup her cheek, then slide his hand to the back of her neck and pull her down for the searing kiss she can remember as if it happened yesterday._ _

_ _“Good night,” he says, a familiar sheepish smile on his face. _ _

_ _It was their joke. Both of them up before dawn, hours before the rest of the team. He always told her good night instead of good morning. _ _

_ _She wants to punch him. She wants to kiss him. She wants to cry from missing what they were. _ _

_ _Instead, she glances at his right arm. “Does it hurt?”_ _

_ _His hand twitches toward where his right arm ends abruptly, but he stops before touching it. “Not anymore. It aches sometimes, but not like…” _ _

_ _Brienne nods. She remembers only vaguely that her cheek was excruciating, but her body can’t remember what that feeling was exactly. She just knows it was horrible, and she can only imagine his hand was a thousand times worse. _ _

_ _He lifts his hand as if to touch her ruined cheek. She flinches away and he stops his hand with a regretful look. _ _

_ _“Sorry,” he murmurs._ _

_ _It’s instinctual to tell him that he doesn’t need to be, but she doesn’t say it. He doesn’t have any right to touch her anymore. That she wants to feel his knuckles against her cheek again doesn’t matter, not really. _ _

_ _“I need you to bring up the rear today,” Brienne says, shifting the conversation abruptly. Jaime’s face twists into a scowl. “You haven’t been on a chase for years, you don’t have any equipment, and I don’t want you to distract my team.” _ _

_ _“Your team,” he repeats, almost absently, his gaze going a bit distant. As if it has just occurred to him that he _isn’t _back, that it isn’t _their_ team anymore. _ _

_ _“Yes, _my_ team,” she emphasizes. _ _

_ _He blinks, refocusing on her face. His mouth opens as if to say something before closing again. _ _

_ _The world fades away as he continues to look at her with that expression on his face, like he’s seeing her for the first time and the thousandth time all at once. _ _

_ _She worries she looks the same. _ _

_ _The sound of a car door opening and closing jolts her, and her gaze slips away from him, her heart giving a heavy thump. _ _

_ _“I haven’t forgotten how to do this,” he says. When she looks at him, his jaw is clenched, a look in his eyes that pierces her. “But I’ll stay back because _you_ asked me to.”_ _

_ _“Thank you,” she says quietly. _ _

_ _He nods curtly and walks away._ _

_ _\--_ _

_ _It becomes increasingly obvious to Jaime throughout the day that Hyle Hunt is an idiot. _ _

_ _Oh, he might technically have the skills and the experience to be a part of Brienne’s team, but somehow he understands _nothing_. He’s a real yes-man who seems like he’s never had an original thought in his life. _ _

_ _He is so aggressively inoffensive that it makes Jaime hate him at a marrow-deep level. _ _

_ _And he’s all wrong for Brienne. _ _

_ _He doesn’t challenge her. If he disagrees with her, it only takes a portion of her stubborn belief to cow him. Jaime dreads to think of how much more hard-headed she must be now without him there to argue her down some of the time. _ _

_ _Jaime sidles up to Sandor where he’s reviewing weather forecasts from as many different sources as he can gather. Sandor may hate him, but Sandor also won’t lie to protect anyone -- including his team. _ _

_ _“What the deal with Hunt?” Jaime asks, knowing that Sandor will only resent him if he tries for pleasantries. _ _

_ _“Fuck off,” Sandor says, not even looking at him. _ _

_ _Jaime can’t help but laugh. He claps Sandor on the back. “I missed you, too.”_ _

_ _That does make Sandor glare at him. “If you want to know the deal with Hunt, then you should talk to Hunt.”_ _

_ _“I just want to know--” Jaime stops. _ _

_ _He wants to know if Hyle is more than he appears. He wants to know if Hyle has a brain between his ears. He wants to know if Brienne loves Hyle enough. If Hyle loves _Brienne_ enough. He doesn’t think Hyle will ever love Brienne as much as he does, but if he loves her _enough_… _ _

_ _“You want me to do your dirty work for you,” Sandor says, with a loathing so thick Jaime would swear it actually has weight to it. “Do your own fucking dirty work.”_ _

_ _\--_ _

_ _As soon as the first severe thunderstorm warnings pop up, Brienne gives the signal. Everyone is in their vehicles and ready to go within five minutes. She catches sight of Jaime just as he’s ducking into his truck and part of her strains to follow him, but then Hyle says her name sharply and she focuses again on what really matters. _ _

_ _This is the part she loves, the first rush of adrenaline for a day filled with promise. She craves that feeling. The day could end on a whimper or a bang, and strangely, it’s that small bit of mystery that drives her the hardest. _ _

_ _At the first sight of rotation, no more than an hour later, she picks up the radio and tells her team to get into position. When the funnel connects to the ground, it’s a pleasure greater than almost any orgasm. _ _

_ _“You’ll have to drive into the field,” she tells Hyle, eyeing the rotation of the storm. He makes no move to turn off the road. She looks at him and finds a mulish expression on his face, his jaw clenched, his hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. “_Hyle_.” _ _

_ _“No,” Hyle says, his mouth barely moving. “I’m not some reckless idiot. We have no idea what’s in that field.”_ _

_ _“A tornado is in that field.” Brienne clenches her fists so that she doesn’t reach for the steering wheel herself. “Do it.”_ _

_ _“No.”_ _

_ _“This is my team, my truck. Drive into the field.” Anger floods her, only strengthened by the adrenaline already pumping through her veins. “This isn’t a normal chase. I told you that. We have to get in the path and position _Oathkeeper_.”_ _

_ _“There will be other tornadoes,” Hyle insists, not even having the gumption to look at her as he ignores her request. “Tornadoes that cross our path without having to risk wrecking our only truck.”_ _

_ _“That’s a worst-case scenario,” Brienne insists, immediately thinking of Jaime’s shiny red pickup. “And there are other options.”_ _

_ _“If you wanted to ride with _him_, you should’ve just said so,” Hyle spits out. _ _

_ _“This is not about Jaime,” Brienne answers, trying to rein in her desire to shove Hyle out of the truck and just do it herself. “This is about the fact that you’ve suddenly decided I don’t know what I’m doing.” _ _

_ _“No, it’s about the fact that you changed the minute that asshole stepped out of his fancy ride.”_ _

_ _“He’s not the one being an asshole.” _ _

_ _Hyle’s knuckles tighten even further, his hands shaking with the tension as he jerks the steering wheel to the right toward the field. The wheels immediately churn in the muddy ditch, and his attempts to drive up the side only result in slipping tires and a tilting truck that makes Brienne brace for a rollover. It doesn’t happen but no amount of attempting to exit the ditch succeeds. _ _

_ _Brienne can feel her heartbeat in her throat as she looks behind them at the tornado bearing down faster than Hyle is driving. _ _

_ _“You have to go faster,” she tells him, chest tight, breathing panicked. “Hyle--”_ _

_ _“I know!” he shouts, slamming on the gas pedal and only churning up more mud. “Oh fuck!” _ _

_ _Brienne looks away from the tornado just in time for Hyle to slam on the brakes, the truck sliding into a wooden bridge post. Her body jerks, slamming against her seatbelt and then back against the seat. It knocks the wind out of her, but she still manages to scramble out of the truck and under the bridge. She’s vaguely aware of Hyle following her, of his smaller body pressing next to her as they grip the fence post. _ _

_ _It’s the first time she’s seen a twister bearing down on her directly--the first time since the one that took her mother and siblings. It calls to her, and without conscious thought, she finds herself loosening her grip on the post and moving forward. _ _

_ _Only Hyle’s frantic screams and grip on her arm stop her and as if snapping out of a trance, she wraps herself around the support just as the brutal winds hit them both. The last thing she notices is her truck lifting from the ground before she buries her head against her arms to shield herself from debris. _ _

_ _\--_ _

_ _Jaime watches as the tornado picks up Brienne’s truck as if it weighs nothing. His stomach turns instantly, bile rising in his throat as the vehicle is flung from the funnel to crumple like cardboard in the field. _ _

_ _All he can manage is chanting to himself over and over: _she wasn’t in the truck, she’s fine, she wasn’t in the truck, she’s fine_._ _

_ _He hadn’t seen what had happened, and he wanted to go back in time and refuse to hang in the back. If he’d been closer, if he hadn’t had to watch helplessly as Hyle drove into a _fucking_ ditch…_ _

_ _When he screeches to a halt alongside Catelyn’s SUV, he’s out of his truck so fast he stumbles, running for the heap of Brienne’s truck. It’s as if he’s in a tunnel, deprived of all input except the sight of the wreckage. He falls to his hands and knees, and nearly vomits when there’s no one in the truck. _ _

_ _He can’t even process if that’s good or bad. _ _

_ _Then he hears her._ _

_ _Jaime lifts his head to see Brienne tromping through the ditch, covered head to toe in muddy water. He’s never seen anything as beautiful. He runs to her with no care for anything other than making sure she’s real and not some hallucination._ _

_ _He palms her cheek before frantically pressing two fingers against the beat of her pulse. He breathes out, heavy and shaking, and can’t seem to stop touching her, trailing a thumb along her cheek and then swiping at the dirt beginning to dry on her lips and chin. _ _

_ _Brienne reaches up and settles her own hand around his wrist, holding it still against her jaw. _ _

_ _It’s as if sound suddenly rushes back into the world when she says, “_Jaime_.” He lifts his eyes to hers. “I’m _fine_.”_ _

_ _He notices Hyle stumbling after her then and strides toward him. There’s only a brief moment of Hyle looking both surprised and angry before Jaime’s fist connects with his nose. “What the fuck were you thinking?” He grabs Hyle by the neck of his t-shirt and jerks him up. Blood pours from Hyle’s nose, smearing across his mouth and staining his shirt. “You fucking idiot.”_ _

_ _It’s at moments like these Jaime curses the loss of his hand as he lets go of Hyle’s shirt and pulls back his hand to hit Hyle again, but is halted by a powerful grip. He turns to shrug off the interloper, only to find himself face to face with Brienne. _ _

_ _“_Stop_,” Brienne says. _ _

_ _Jaime pauses, torn between his fury and the instinct to acquiesce to the commanding tone of her voice and her stern expression. _ _

_ _“I told Hyle to drive into the ditch.”_ _

_ _“He should have told you no,” Jaime says, loosening his grip on Hyle. _ _

_ _“He did.”_ _

_ _“He should have ignored you.”_ _

_ _“Hyle _respects_ me, unlike some people.”_ _

_ _“Oh, my bad. I’m sorry I did my best to protect you.”_ _

_ _“Protect me from _what_?”_ _

_ _“From your decision-making skills!”_ _

_ _“_My_ decision-making skills?!”_ _

_ _

_ _“Yes,_ your_\--”_ _

_ _“_Hey_!” Brienne and Jaime turn as one to Arya, both breathing heavily. “Can you two pause the foreplay long enough to decide what we’re going to do about Brienne’s truck?” _ _

_ _Jaime’s head snaps back to Brienne, only then realizing how close they’re standing to one another. He darts a glance at Hyle to find him holding his broken nose, a murderous look in his eyes. _ _

_ _Brienne takes a long step away from Jaime, and he barely resists the urge to reach for her. She opens her mouth to say something. _ _

_ _“We can use my truck,” he interrupts. _ _

_ _“_We_?” Hyle questions, but Jaime ignores him and Brienne either ignores him or doesn’t hear him in the first place. _ _

_ _Her eyes stay trained on Jaime, her chest still rising and falling heavily. _ _

_ _“Take the truck,” Jaime says, voice softer. “Let me help.”_ _

_ _“Is it a double cab?” _ _

_ _Jaime has only a moment of confusion before he realizes her eyes have darted to Hyle. Even through his annoyance he manages, “Yes.”_ _

_ _She’s silent for a moment longer, just looking as her breathing evens out. “Okay.”_ _

_ _He feels like his strings have been cut, relief flooding him and edging out the tension. He manages to smirk at her before saying, “But I’m driving.” Her eyes immediately flash with irritation. He can already hear her protests before she even opens her mouth. “My truck, my rules.” That makes her even more mutinous. He sighs and finally explains, “And it’s been modified to make it easier to drive with this bad boy.” He lifts his prosthetic. _ _

_ _Brienne’s expression calms in an instant, but she can’t seem to resist saying, “Fine, but I call the shots.”_ _

_ _He laughs. It’s so like before the accident that it’s almost deja vu. “Whatever you say, Brienne.”_ _

_ _He turns away from her on purpose and only smiles as she calls after him. _ _

_ _“I call the shots!”_ _

_ _“I heard you the first time, boss!” he calls without looking back, making his way to his truck._ _


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s not dead! 
> 
> Thanks as always to bethanyactually for the beta!

**Chapter Four**

If someone had asked Brienne what her concept of the Seven Hells was before today...well, she’s not sure what she would’ve said, but now she knows for sure: the Seven Hells are a road trip, with Jaime in the front and Hyle in the back, as she drives in a high-pressure situation for all eternity. She’s never thought about having children in any real way, but if they’re anything like the two men she’s trapped with for at least the next several hours, she’s one thousand percent sure she doesn’t want any.

“Would you two just _shut up_?” she finally all-but-screams at them both. 

Nothing about their current conversation _should_ feel weighted. Yet, somehow their debate over who’s going to win between the Winterfell Direwolves and the Riverrun Trout in the upcoming Westeros Baseball League championship sounds like it’s about anything _but_ sports.

Still, the silence is actually worse. Jaime is now _pouting_ in the front seat, arms crossed over his chest like a child, while Hyle fumes in the backseat, his face redder than Jaime’s truck.

She hates herself a little, but she still finds herself saying, “Besides, everyone knows the Trout have it in the bag.” Jaime scoffs, but keeps looking out the window as if he’s the only one in the truck. “Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

“You’re only taking his side because he’s your fiancé,” Jaime says pointedly. 

It takes all Brienne has not to pull over to the side of the road, slam on her brakes, and threaten to turn around and take them right back home. 

“Oh, because I always took your side,” Brienne growls. “That’s why I won five hundred dragons in our team pool five years ago.”

“The only reason the Eyrie Falcons won was because the Lannisport Lions had an insane streak of bad luck with injuries to key players.” 

“You know, I know, the whole of Westeros knows that the Lions put all of their hopes on the back of Lydden and Peckledon.”

“Bullshit,” Jaime spits. “A baseball team is more than two players.”

“Which is why they completely fell apart when those two were injured after leading the league for, quite literally, the entire season up to that point.”

“No team could lose their best two pitchers and be just as strong!”

“Maybe not, but plenty of teams could lose their two best pitchers and not completely crumble under the weight of their mediocrity.”

“HEY!” Hyle shouts from the backseat. 

“WHAT?!” she and Jaime yell in unison. 

“Are we going to chase this tornado or not?”

Brienne’s head whips to where Hyle is pointing just in time to see the funnel make contact with the ground. “Shit.” 

She looks over at Jaime to give him direction, but he’s already got the CB radio in hand and Sandor on the other line asking about wind shear and speed estimates. 

When she glances in the rearview mirror, Hyle looks mutinous instead of helpful, and it makes fury pulse throughout Brienne’s body, an emotion she has little to no time for at the moment. 

“_Shit shit shit_.” 

The tone of Jaime’s voice jolts Brienne, her gaze immediately following the line of his to see—the Lannisters. They tend to hover like flies, but every time Brienne’s stomach twists to see them. It was better, maybe, when Jaime was still around. They weren’t as aggressive then; even Gregor Clegane fears Tywin Lannister and the repercussions if he does anything against Jaime. 

“They’re always around,” Brienne says. “Don’t worry about them.” 

Jaime looks at her. 

“What?”

“I thought they were around because of my father,” he says, his voice detached-sounding. “I always assumed he had someone following me, since Clegane seemed so deeply disinterested in the actual chase.” 

Brienne shrugs. “I think Tywin wants to prove that money matters.”

Jaime grunts, staring at the line of sleek vans and trucks crossing the street half a mile away. His eyes trace a line from them to the rapidly swirling storm. “Turn,” he says almost absently.

“What?”

“Turn!” 

“Wha—”

“It’s going to shift.” Jaime points to the sky, to where the funnel begins at the end of the wall cloud. “Watch the rotation.”

Brienne glances, but whatever Jaime has deemed perfectly obvious is anything but. She hesitates and he finally turns to her, a stubborn but entreating expression on his face. 

“How often have I been wrong about _this_?” he asks. 

She turns.

\--

Jaime wants to be an asshole when the tornado shifts direction and all but follows them down the small backroad. He does have some sense of self-preservation, though, so he settles for a smug little smile that earns him a scowl. He watches the rotation closely; it feels so much like coming home, the intrinsic, instinctual understanding of storms. It feels like being awake again after years of hibernation.

“We need to go northeast,” Jaime says idly, eyes still trained on the sky.

He hears Brienne pick up the CB and radio Peck. “Peck, we need to go northeast for the intercept. How can we get there?”

They turn onto a road that’s little more than a trail. Peck’s voice, scratchy and distorted, gives Brienne directions while Jaime remains mesmerized by the violent, beautiful swirl of dirt and debris. “Tell the team to stay back. This road isn’t wide enough,” he says absently, eyes carefully trained on the storm.

As if to make a fool of him, it shifts again, and he stares in horror as it turns toward them. 

“Brienne,” he says, reaching out for her. “We need to _move_.”

“What are you—” Brienne must spot the problem mid-sentence, because she immediately slams on the brakes. 

Jaime glances around, only to find them stuck on the muddy road, water-logged fields on both sides, an endless distance before them with no cover, and a tornado at their backs.

“We’ll just have to go straight; fast as you can.”

Brienne doesn’t move immediately. Jaime looks over at her; his heart stops in his chest at the look on her face. It’s as familiar to him as his own reflection, since he spent years coaxing the reason behind that expression out of her. It’s the look she gets every time she’s too near danger, particularly from a storm--it’s the memory of the storm that took her mother and siblings. 

One night, tucked together in a too-small bed in her too-small apartment, she had finally told him in a choked whisper of finding her mother’s body, of sheltering her infant sisters beneath a crossbeam. By the time she told him of Galladon’s broken body lying near a tree, tears were streaming from her eyes—his impossibly strong Brienne, weeping softly even as her body shook. He still remembers her trembling hands clutching at him as he held her, knowing he couldn’t fix anything, but that he could at least remind her she wasn’t alone.

“_Brienne_,” Jaime nearly shouts. He grabs her shoulder and shakes before he can think better of it. She twists her head to stare at his hand and then at his face. He can see the wild fear in her eyes. He lifts his hand to her cheek, pressing just hard enough that it gives her a grounding point. “You have to drive.”

Her lips quiver as she draws a deep breath, before whipping her head forward and slamming on the gas. But it’s not fast enough, the tires churning up muck, the truck threatening to hydroplane the entire time. Jaime glances behind them. His stomach drops at the veritable wall of destruction bearing down on them. 

“Fuckfuckfuckingfuck,” Hyle all but screams from the backseat. 

It startles Jaime. He’d forgotten Hyle was in the vehicle with them, he’s so inconsequential. Jaime glares at him briefly before turning back to Brienne. “It’s too close now, we need to park. You should turn parallel to it if you can. If it comes up behind us, it may lift the bed of the truck first and then we’re fucked.”

“I can do this,” she grits out, hands in a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. “If I go fast enough we may have time to deploy _Oathkeeper_.” 

“You can’t.”

“I _can_.”

“Godsdammit, Brienne, there’s no _time_,” Jaime yells at her. “Stop arguing, stop the truck, and fucking brace yourself before you wreck another truck or _worse_.”

Brienne slams on the brakes so hard, Jaime has to brace himself against the dash before he slams his face into it. Hyle does grunt in pain as he hits the seats, flinging forward out of his own. Jaime doesn’t care; he reaches for Brienne and jerks her toward him on pure instinct, sheltering her as well as he can with his own body. 

Jaime’s never experienced anything like the terror that stirs in his gut at the sound of the storm barrelling down on them. The truck rocks around them, rattling, tires threatening to lift off the ground fully and toss them. 

When the twister finally moves on, for a brief moment, Jaime is convinced he’s died. It took mere seconds, but it felt like years, and now it’s as if his limbs are no longer attached to his body, the adrenaline making him lightheaded and disoriented. 

Finally, Brienne stirs against him and lifts herself away, a frantic, excited gleam in her eyes as she stares at the dwindling funnel. She smiles at him, and the familiarity of it, the excitement in the sparkle of those eyes, the sudden relief of survival makes the blood in his veins sing.

\--

Brienne only waits long enough for the funnel to completely taper off before she launches herself from the truck with a loud, echoing laugh. Jaime is right beside her, laughing just as hard. She looks over at him, his bright grin and even brighter eyes, the flush of excitement staining his cheeks, and it’s like no time has passed. 

Heat floods her veins, pooling between her thighs. She can remember his harsh kisses as if they happened yesterday. She can vividly imagine him dragging her back to the van, throwing the door shut behind him and yanking her jeans down her thighs, both of them hot from the chase, high on adrenaline. The light in his eyes changes, his nostrils flare, his body tenses. He feels it, too, and it makes it so hard to remember why she can’t shove him against the hood of his truck and shove his jeans off his hips.

She takes a step away from him and looks away, only for her gaze to find Hyle standing just beyond Jaime. His expression isn’t angry or jealous, but rather pale and defeated. He stares at her for only a moment before shaking his head and walking away, heading toward the rising sound of the rest of the team’s arrival. 

She catches Jaime out of the corner of her eye following her gaze, something determined in the line of his jaw as he watches Hyle walk away. 

The rumble of engines and squelching of tires churning up mud draws Brienne’s attention. She looks up to find her own team being trailed by the Lannister group. She strides to the cluster of vehicles, dreading what will happen if Sandor sees his brother without her there to calm the situation. 

She arrives just in time, the brothers all but steaming as they squaring up. Gregor Clegane is the largest man she’s ever seen; the only person who has ever made her feel _dainty_. 

“Hey!” she calls out. Both men look at her sharply as she closes the rest of the distance. “I hope we don’t have a problem here?”

“Just catching up with my little brother,” Gregor says, slapping Sandor hard enough on the shoulder that he actually moves under the force of it. 

Sandor growls in response, furious violence in the curl of his lip. Brienne is vaguely aware of the footsteps behind her; Hyle and Jaime joining the party. 

A cruel, chilling grin splits Gregor’s face. “Why, if it isn’t our benefactor,” he says to Jaime directly. 

Brienne’s eyebrows draw together as she glances behind her to see Jaime looking just as confused. 

“I’m sorry?” Jaime asks. 

Gregor laughs, a booming, humorless explosion. “Is that how you’re playing it, then?” 

The question sends a shiver down Brienne’s spine, her eyes dart to Sandor to find him looking knowing, angry, and---and disappointed at having been proven right. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jaime says defiantly, not a quaver of uncertainty in his tone. 

Gregor walks to the van nearest them and throws open the backdoor. There, grouped together, three gleaming cylinders. He hits a button on the side and the top flips open with a hydraulic whoosh, a platform raising out of the center with a stack of sensors stacked atop neatly.

Bile rises in Brienne’s throat. She can’t _bear_ to look at Jaime, or at her team. If she thought it hurt when he left the team, it’s nothing to the sight of his betrayal of their life’s work in the back of _Gregor Clegane’s_ vehicle. When Brienne had nothing else, she had her work, and Jaime’s taken that from her, too. 

She doesn’t say a word, _can’t_ say a word. She walks away, ignoring the scuffling noises and the more colorful insults the Clegane brothers hurl at each other. She doesn’t have room to care about their petty squabbles, or how many testicles Arya will threaten to remove before Catelyn diffuses the situation or the cops are called. She just needs to be _away_. 

Of course, Jaime doesn’t allow it. He won’t allow it. She hears the pounding of his feet running after her. He’s panting when he draws up next to her. 

\--

Jaime runs after her. It’s all he can do. He realizes too late what they think—what _Brienne_ thinks—he’s done. 

He hasn’t.

He has no clue how his family got the specs for _Oathkeeper_. It makes no sense. He hasn’t so much as touched that information since he left. He didn’t take it with him, and he hasn’t reached out to anyone with Brienne’s team. It doesn’t make _sense_. 

“Brienne,” he says as he draws up next to her. She doesn’t look at him. She’s not looking at anything. Her gaze blank and trained on the horizon, walking with no destination in mind. “I didn’t know about this,” he insists, fear burning in his veins at the idea that Brienne could possibly think he would do this to her, to _them_. She ignores him. “Brienne, please,” he touches her arm lightly, “tell me you know I wouldn’t do this.” He watches the pulse flutter like hummingbird wings against the pale skin of her throat. “_Please_.”

She finally looks at him then, her piercing blue gaze capturing his. He lets her read him as deeply as she dares, leaves himself vulnerable to her judgment, desperation dismantling any defenses he’s erected. He can see the moment she decides, the certainty in the firm line of her jaw. 

“I believe you,” she says. 

All the air leaves his lungs in a rush of crumbling relief. 

“But,” she continues hesitantly, “we need to know what happened. They were your specs. If they didn’t come from you, then...”

“I don’t _know_.” He watches her nod slowly. “I want to know just as badly as you.” 

“The others won’t believe you,” she tells him. “They won’t take you at your word.”

“I don’t blame them.” He takes a deep breath and glances away from her before he says, “They don’t know me they way you do.”

“The way I _did_.”

He looks at her sharply, his voice nearly cutting as he says, “The way you _do_.”

“The Jaime I knew wouldn’t have left me the way you did.” Brienne’s chin trembles, and he knows it’s anger and sadness at war in the gravel of her tone. 

“I thought--”

“I _needed_ you,” she whispers, sounding as if the admission is torn from her gut, quiet and unwanted. “The man I loved, he wouldn’t have abandoned me when I needed him the most.” She looks away from him, draws a deep breath through her nose. He watches the way her throat clenches, knows she’s near tears and trying to hide it. “I need a minute.”

There was a time he would ignore her, a time he could convince her to look at him, to share her pain so he could take the burden from her shoulders alone. He can’t anymore, and it eats away at him like acid as he makes himself stay in one place as she walks away. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I wouldn't abandon this thing! I also have it fully outlined now, so I have a really clear plan going forward with how this will go and hopefully I can stick to a much stricter schedule now that _We Make the Rules_ is complete. I know this isn't my most wildly popular story, but hopefully the people that were enjoying it will be glad to see it finished. :) 
> 
> Thanks, as always, to bethanyactually for betaing this nonsense. (and to angel_deux and kiraziwrites and roccolinde and ddagent for holding my hand way too often to speak of)

“You know…”

Brienne looks up from her computer to see Podrick, Josmyn, and Arya with identical innocent expressions on their faces. 

“Oh gods, what?” she asks, already dreading whatever they’re going to ask for. 

“We’re all super hungry,” Josmyn says, glancing at Podrick. 

“Yeah.” Podrick nods. “And it would be better if we ate something to _really_ fuel us for the rest of the outbreak.”

“Right,” Arya says. “And a shower. A nice, _hot_ shower. To get the--” she looks Brienne up and down “--the mud out of our hair. Your hair. To get the mud out of your hair. You look like a drowned rat.”

“Thanks,” she says flatly. “If you’re all hinting at something--”

“We wanna go to Olenna’s.” Podrick says almost desperately. 

“Please,” Josmyn says. 

“We’ll beg,” Arya offers.

“I think you are begging.” Brienne raises her eyebrows. “We’re not going to Olenna’s.”

“Oh, come on, why not?” Arya whines, sounding more like she's still sixteen years old rather than her twenty-two. 

“Because we’re not going to harass my 85-year-old aunt into feeding all of us.” Brienne skewers them with a look that clearly broadcasts _don’t even try me._ “We’ll go to a motel.”

Arya rolls her eyes but doesn’t protest, and stomps away. Josmyn and Podrick both look hangdog but wander off in a more downtrodden, less infuriated, manner. 

Brienne’s only been back at her forecast data for ten minutes when a shadow falls over it. She looks up to find Sandor blocking the sun. 

She groans. “Not you, too.”

“It’s idiotic to make everyone pay for a motel when Olenna has a massive house with more than enough room,” he says. “What’s the real reason you don’t want to go?”

Brienne’s throat tightens. She doesn’t want to talk about it. She doesn’t want to talk about the fact that it makes her chest feel tight, imagining Jaime back in Olenna’s house. It’s one of the few places she ever felt truly safe. It’s home in ways not even her own was, Olenna warm in ways her father couldn’t be. 

Eventually, Sandor shakes his head and says, “She’d be happy to see us.” He starts to walk away but looks over his shoulder to say, “Especially you.”

She sighs and squeezes her eyes closed. She knows Sandor is right. She hasn’t seen Olenna in months and though she hates to think about it, Olenna won’t live forever. It nauseates her to think of Jaime back in her house. He probably still remembers where the dishes are, which drawer has towels rather than cutlery. He’ll know how to jiggle the doorknob in the guest bedroom en suite so it’ll lock. 

Just thinking of it reminds her of his wicked smile as he crowded her against the counter. It makes her stomach curl in a mixture of pain and arousal. 

Still, it makes sense. She wants to see Olenna and she _desperately_ needs a shower. 

Swallowing her pride, she marches over to where everyone is gathered. The all look up at her. There’s only one notable absence: Jaime. She glances around, hopefully surreptitiously, away from the group checking his truck after the last close call. 

She takes a deep breath. 

“We can go to Olenna’s.”

She’s barely finished the sentence before a cheer goes up like she’s just announced they won the lottery. She rolls her eyes affectionately and leaves them to their jubilation, making her way across the grass, her heart pounding more heavily with every step as she makes her way to Jaime. 

He looks up when she’s only a few steps away. His expression is almost scared when their eyes meet, wary if nothing else. 

“Hey,” he says, rubbing his palms on his jeans. 

“Hey,” she says, stuffing her own hands in her pockets. “I wanted to give you a heads-up.” It’s so strange how afraid she is just to say, “We’re going to Olenna’s.”

Jaime’s mouth spreads in a still-wary smile, but there’s a warm happiness in his eyes that lodges in her chest. 

“How is the old bat?” he asks, humor laced through his tone.

Brienne snorts. “Why don’t you call her that to her face and find out?”

“You say that like it’s not going to be the first thing out of my mouth.”

She laughs before she can help it. Olenna is going to whack him with her cane hard enough to leave a bruise for weeks. The thought of that unwinds something inside and she finds herself still smiling when she tells him, “She’s doing as well as ever. Sharp mind, sharper tongue. Hard cane, harder head.”

“That sounds like Olenna,” Jaime says fondly. 

They share a smile and for a moment it’s as if nothing has changed. 

But she blinks and it fades, like a cloud passing in front of the sun.

Jaime clears his throat and looks away. “When do we leave?”

“A couple of hours.” She shifts awkwardly. “We need to pack everything and give Olenna a heads-up.” 

Jaime nods. “I’ll be ready.” He turns away, facing his truck once more.

For some reason, Brienne doesn’t want to leave. Not right away. 

“How’s the truck?” she asks. 

He looks over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in surprise. “I still have to get under the hood and check it out, but I think it’s all cosmetic.” He smiles, slowly, his eyes twinkling. “I’ll send you the bill for the deductible.”

She rolls her eyes, but she can’t stop the quirk of her lips. “Don’t count on it.” She takes a couple of steps backward, still not-quite-smiling. “Be ready in a couple hours or we’ll leave you, and I doubt Olenna will let you in without someone vouching for you.”

\--

Jaime’s just started checking his engine when someone slaps the roof, startling him into nearly knocking his head on the hood. He leans around to find Hyle standing there, a sour expression on his face. 

“Uh, hi,” he says, eyebrow lifted. 

When Hyle says nothing, Jaime turns to lean hipshot against the vehicle. 

“What do you need?”

“Why are you here?” Hyle asks. 

“To see my hard work finally pay off.”

“Really?”

“_Yes_,” Jaime says. “I don’t like bullshit, Hunt. So if there’s something--”

“Did you come back for Brienne?”

Jaime freezes, staring at Hyle stupidly. It takes him too long to finally respond, “No.”

The thing is, he means it. He _didn’t _come back for Brienne, but even the implication makes his chest ache with something he can’t contemplate. 

Hyle looks at him as if he’s never believed anything less. 

“Look,” Jaime says before Hyle responds or storms away. “I don’t care about you. I don’t even know you enough to dislike you. I made my choice a long time ago and Brienne has made hers.” He takes a breath. “Even if I did want her back, I wouldn’t try to get between the two of you. The _last _thing I want to do is hurt her again.

“So, _no_,” Jaime says pointedly. “I didn’t come back to try and--what? Win her?” He smirks. “Did you come over here because you’re worried you’d lose?”

Hyle scowls, turning red with anger. “Fuck you, Lannister.”

Jaime rolls his eyes. Hyle isn’t even a formidable verbal opponent. “I’m not here for Brienne,” Jaime reiterates. “And you should know her well enough to know she’d be insulted and pissed off that you were over here staking your territory. Not to mention what she’d feel that you’re all but saying she would cheat on you in a second if given the chance with someone she hasn’t even _spoken_ to in years.”

“I do know her,” Hyle insists. 

“Do you?” Jaime asks. 

Jaime half-expects Hyle to haul off and punch him, but instead he just shakes his head and walks away. 

He’s just relaxed into the mindless rhythm of inspecting his truck for damange when yet another shadow blocks the sun from view. 

“Seven Hells, what the fuck--” he looks up to find Peck standing there, an expression like Jaime punched him in the gut. “Shit, Peck, I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

Peck’s expression relaxes a little, but not fully, not like he completely believes Jaime. 

“Did you need something?” Jaime asks gently. 

“Oh, yeah,” Peck says, shifting uneasily. “I just wanted to--we haven’t really--I haven’t really gotten to talk to you since you got back.” 

Jaime smiles. “How have you been?”

“Good.” Peck nods his head a little jerkily, nervously. “I’ve learned a lot since you left. Brienne trusts me a lot more now. I get to do some of the forecasting and data analysis during the start and end of the season.”

“I’m not surprised,” Jaime says honestly. “You were always eager to learn, even the boring bits.”

“There are no boring bits.”

Jaime can’t help but laugh at Peck’s earnestness. He really was a good kid. A good man, now. “Well, I’m happy for you. You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” Peck says. He shifts again and then steps a little closer to Jaime. “I understand, you know.”

Jaime’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “Understand what?”

“That you gave your family the specs,” Peck says carefully. “They’re your family.”

Jaime is caught between anger and frustration and _sadness_. “I _didn’t_,” he insists. “I swear, I didn’t give them anything.”

“Then how?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “If I were a betting man, it’s something to do with my father. He has the money, he has the resources, and he lacks any qualms or morals. Or humanity. I just don’t know how he did it.” 

Peck stares at him for a long moment, searching for something. “If you’re lying,” he says.

“I’m _not_,” Jaime says again, nearly pleading with Peck. “I swear, you can do whatever you want to my corpse after Arya kills me if I’m lying.”

A shocked laugh bursts out of Peck’s mouth, a sharp crack like a bolt of lightning. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Without warning, Peck wraps his arms around Jaime and hugs him tight. He’s bigger and stronger than Jaime remembers. “I missed you,” he mumbles. 

“I missed you, too, bud,” Jaime says, cupping the back of Peck’s head. 

\--

“Hey.”

Brienne looks up to find Hyle standing in the doorway. He’s standing uncomfortably, hands shoved in his pockets, his jaw tense. 

“Can we talk?”

Brienne swallows, her stomach uneasy at what she knows is coming. “Of course,” she says. 

Hyle sits next to her on the floor and leans back.

The silence stretches out, awkward and tense, until Brienne finally asks, “What did you want to talk about?”

“I’m--” he pauses and takes a deep breath. “I’m going to skip Olenna’s. I think I need to head home.”

“What?” Brienne’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “Why?”

Hyle forehead wrinkles, his mouth pulled into a frown. “Do you love him?”

He doesn’t even need to say who. She knows who. 

“It’s not like that,” she says. “Whatever you think you saw -- it’s all in the past.”

He flinches. “Is it?” 

“_Yes_,” she insists, the words creaking out of her. “I haven’t seen him in _five years_ and the last time I saw him--” She looks down at her hands. “I didn’t think I’d ever see him again and it’s _hard_. It’s hard to be around him.”

“Because you love him.”

“I--” Brienne wants to say she doesn’t, but the words stick in her throat. The longer she pauses, the more resigned and sad Hyle looks. It’s like the anger and frustration drains out of him at whatever expression is on her face. 

“I’m not interested in--” he waves his hand in the air “--_this_. I’m not an idiot, you know. I _wanted _to believe you’d moved on from Lannister.” He laughs humorlessly. “I can’t even claim to have lost, I don’t think I was in the fight to begin with.”

“Hyle,” she says helplessly. “There’s no fight.”

“No, there’s not,” he agrees with heavy resignation. “For a hot minute, I thought the problem was him, but I don’t think it is now. I just didn’t see it until he came back. The look on your face when you saw him, _every_ time you see him…”

“I don’t want Jaime,” she says softly. 

“You don’t want him or you don’t _want_ to want him?” 

Brienne swallows and stares at Hyle. Finally, he looks away from her and nods. 

“Did you ever love me?” he asks.

“I _do_ love you,” she insists. 

“Do you?” 

“_Yes_.”

“But you love him more.”

She wants to deny it, but she can’t. “If it helps, I also hate him more.”

Hyle laughs, it’s not happy, but it’s not angry either. “I didn’t even come out on top in that race.”

“I’m sorry,” Brienne says, hoping he knows how much she means it. 

“Yeah.” Hyle nods his head and then pushes up so he’s standing again. “Good luck, okay? I hope the launch goes well.”

She smiles at him and stands. She wraps her arms around him and holds tight for just a moment. 

“I wish--”

“Don’t,” he interrupts her, firm but not sharp. “It is what it is. I’ll be fine.” He turns and hops out of the van. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” she says faintly.

With that, Hyle turns and walks away. 

Brienne wishes it hurt more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Hyle. Kind of.
> 
> I did want to send him off with dignity, but I'm sure no one will really be sorry to see him go.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olenna: I love all of Brienne's team equally.
> 
> Also Olenna: I don't care for Hyle.

**Chapter Six**

If seeing Brienne and the rest of the crew was difficult, a frightening experience that caused an ache in the pit of his stomach, seeing Olenna’s familiar house looming ahead feels more like coming home than Tywin Lannister’s house ever has. 

She’s waiting for them on the porch by the time they park. She looks comfortingly the same--maybe a little older, perhaps leaning on her cane a touch more, but she still has that sharp look in her eyes and a wicked tilt to the corners of her mouth. He _knows_ when he first steps out of the truck that there’s a flash of excitement on her face before it’s replaced quickly with a narrow-eyed glare. 

“So, the prodigal son returns,” she says scathingly. 

“I’ll have you know the only thing I spent flagrantly on was this,” he says, lifting his prosthetic as he saunters to her, skipping up the front porch steps. “I’m sure you would agree it could have gone to much poorer causes.”

“Hmph.” She lifts her chin to glare at him as he comes to stand in front of her. “Well, don’t expect any sympathy from my corner.”

He grins and leans in to kiss her cheek. “I missed you, too, you old bat.”

He yelps when her cane connects sharply with his calf. “Watch your tongue. Neither my temperament nor my cane have softened.”

She looks over his shoulder and her entire face softens at once. “There’s my Brienne,” she says, pushing him aside with the tip of her cane and opening her arms. 

Brienne goes to her immediately. It should be comical the way Brienne dwarfs Olenna, but no one could find the warmth of affection between the two women funny. 

“It’s good to see you,” Brienne says, slowly peeling away from her, half-smiling. 

Olenna looks over Brienne’s shoulder, her brow wrinkling. Jaime follows her line of sight trying to pick out what put that look on her face. 

“Where’s that Hunt boy?” she asks. 

Jaime looks at Brienne quickly to see a pink blush crop up in splotches along her neck and cheeks. 

“He went home,” Brienne says quietly, nearly mumbles it. 

Jaime’s not even sure _what_ the feeling is that courses through him, a confusing muddle of guilt and relief and happiness and sympathy. 

“Good,” Olenna says decisively. “I never cared for that boy.”

“Olenna,” Brienne says chidingly.

“What?” Olenna asks, a facetiously innocent look on her face. “He was duller than the Elder Brother. Renly had more passion for Margaery during that ill-fated two-week attempt at heterosexuality than Hyle had in his entire life.”

Brienne sighs heavily. Olenna reaches up and pats her cheek. 

“I am sorry for you, dear,” Olenna says sincerely. “Of course I am, but I’m sure you’ll recover before too long. I never thought you two were a good fit.” 

Brienne shrugs helplessly. Olenna looks at Jaime again and he shrugs, too. She narrows her eyes, but he shakes his head and she seems somewhat satisfied. 

“Well, come on,” Olenna calls out loud enough for everyone to hear. “No doubt everyone has more reason for being here than to visit a crotchety old woman. There’s food to be had and hot showers for those of you coated head to toe in mud.” 

Jaime can’t take his eyes off of Brienne as they make their way through Olenna’s front door. The only thing that distracts him is that the moment the smell of the house hits him, the powerful sense memory wallops him straight in the chest. He stupidly feels like crying as he glances around the unchanged front room, noting the same tchotchkes and furniture, the same faint scent of lavender and honeysuckle that lingers no matter the time of year. He knows he must be frozen in place, but it’s almost an out-of-body experience, like being shoved into the past with no warning. 

He turns in a circle, taking in every deja-vu inducing familiar detail, until he’s facing the doorway into the kitchen only to find Brienne staring back at him like he’s a ghost. When he takes a step toward her, she blinks and flinches as if she is truly surprised he’s corporeal. She draws a deep breath and walks further into the kitchen, leaving him to trail behind the rest of the team. 

\--

Brienne is thankful that at least Olenna lets everyone finish their hearty meal before she skewers her with a look and says, “We need to talk in private. I’ll walk with you to the shower.” Olenna looks around the rest of the table. “You all know how to turn up the volume on the television.” 

It’s an unspoken threat that they will regret it if they should choose to even attempt eavesdropping as if they’re still teenagers.

At the very least, Olenna waits until the door to Brienne’s childhood bedroom is closed before she levels Brienne with an unforgiving stare. “Why did that Hunt boy leave?”

“He thought I wasn’t over Jaime,” she says, forcing herself to meet Olenna’s eyes.

“He’s not as big of an idiot as I thought he was, then.”

“It’s not--”

“I haven’t lived for ninety years to be accused by someone not even thirty of being blind to the human condition,” she says. “You can save your denials for someone who hasn’t known you since you were a child. You have been in love with that boy since you first laid eyes on him and you never stopped.”

“We hated each other at first,” Brienne protests, knowing the futility of arguing with Olenna about the rest of it. 

Olenna hmphs. “Thin lines and all that nonsense.” 

Brienne sighs. She’s not sure Olenna is wrong about that, either. Everything with Jaime was a raging inferno. They went from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye the first time they met, and it never stopped, not even when they were together. The tamest thing they ever did was walk away from one another. Well, Brienne walked away. Jaime rolled over to face the wall as she did. 

“He’s back,” Olenna says, drawing Brienne’s attention once more.

“He’s not back,” Brienne insists. “He’s here for the launch of _Oathkeeper_. He’ll leave again once we’re done.”

“He doesn’t look at you like he’s back for _Oathkeeper_.” 

Brienne swallows, hates the way her eyes burn with the threat of tears. She shakes her head. “I can’t…”

Olenna sighs. Brienne startles when Olenna cups her cheek. “If you need me to kill him, I will. They will never find his body.”

Brienne laughs wetly. “Sandor offered the same thing.” 

“Good boy. Remind me to make him those cookies he likes.” Olenna gives her cheek one last pat. “Take a shower. You look awful.” 

“Thanks,” Brienne says flatly. 

She doesn’t realize until the hot water is pounding her back how badly she needed a shower, needed the relaxing routine of washing her hair and body, letting the water sluice over her. By the time she’s finished scrubbing away the mud still dried beneath her fingernails and in strange places like behind her ears or beneath her jaw and shuts the water off, she feels human again.

Her skin is raw and pink when she looks in the mirror over the vanity, but at least her eyes aren’t puffy or red anymore. She looks...fine. She doesn’t know what she expected. Grief, maybe. Pain. Something that says, _my fiance just broke up with me because I’m still in love with my ex_. It’s probably pathetic after five fucking years, but she never claimed to be anything else. 

She’s still combing the knots out of her tangled hair when the door creaks open behind her. She looks up, clutching the towel tightly to her chest when she finds Jaime standing in the doorway. He freezes, wide-eyed with parted lips. She whips around to face him, dropping the comb to the vanity. Only then does he look down and away from her. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmurs. “Olenna said she thought I still had some old clothes in here.”

“Oh,” she says, still white-knuckling the towel. _Gods, Olenna_. “Uh. You--you probably do.” 

“Okay,” he says. “Uh, just let me know when you’re dressed and I’ll come back.” 

“No, it’s fine,” she says. 

He looks up again, eyebrow raised. She doesn’t know why she said that. 

Instead of answering, she points to the chest of drawers on the opposite wall. “They would be in the bottom drawer.” 

“Thanks,” he says, a perplexed expression still on his face. 

She watches him as he walks over and crouches down to rifle through the clothes, coming away with a familiar t-shirt and threadbare pair of jeans. She remembers they have a hole in the top-right corner of the right back pocket. She remembers hooking her finger through it and tugging as he bit at her collarbone on the bed not two feet from where she stands.

He stands up clutching them to his chest and turns slowly to face her. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. 

She wrinkles her brows in confusion. “I told you to come in.” 

“Not for this,” he says, jostling the clothing. “I’m sorry about Hyle.”

She goes cold from head to toe. “You don’t need to be sorry about Hyle.”

“But I am,” he insists. She can see his jaw firming with stubborness. “If for no other reason than him leaving must have hurt you.”

She bristles. She can’t help it, of all people…

“He isn’t the first and I doubt he’ll be the last,” she says bitingly. “I’ll get over it.” 

Jaime pales slightly. “Right,” he says almost silently. “Well, I should--I know where the other bathroom is.” 

He backs out of the room, shutting the door softly behind him. The minute it clicks, it’s as if all of the wind is let out of a balloon and she sinks back against the vanity, drawing in a shaky breath. 

\--

“Did you run off Hyle on purpose or was it merely a perk of showing up unannounced?”

Jaime looks over his shoulder to find Olenna leaning on her cane, staring at him with that expression that clearly conveys he’s not escaping until they have a Conversation. 

“I didn’t run Hyle off,” Jaime says. “I made it very clear to him that he was being paranoid. If he had a problem with me, that was his issue, not mine.”

“So you _do_ know why he left.”

For the first time in years, Jaime feels like a boy being admonished by a parent. 

“I suspect it’s the same reason he confronted me a few hours ago,” Jaime admits. “I told him that I wasn’t back to break them up, and that if he thought that Brienne would leave him in the blink of an eye for someone she hasn’t seen in five years, he doesn’t know her very well at all.”

“Seven hells,” Olenna mutters. “I can’t say I’m sad to see him go. He could never go toe-to-toe with her.”

“Or see eye-to-eye,” Jaime says under his breath. 

Olenna purses her lips. He swears it’s because she’s trying not to laugh, knowing he doesn’t only mean it metaphorically.

“She blames herself, you know.” Olenna says with a raised eyebrow. 

“For Hyle?” Jaime asks, but he knows that’s not what Olenna means. It’s the same fear that’s turned his stomach for the last five years.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” she tells him with the same glare that has always made him feel all of seven years old. She uses her cane to tap against his prosthetic hand. “For this. For the fact that you’re a weatherman.”

“I really wish people would stop saying that like I’ve committed treason,” he grumbles.

“No, you’ve only chosen to be declawed.” Jaime glowers at her, and she gives him another tap with her cane, this time to his knee. He winces. Olenna takes no small amount of pleasure in those little taps stinging. “Your choice, and yet Brienne takes the blame on her own shoulders. You should see her any time someone mentions seeing you in front of a green screen with your little laser pointer.”

“She shouldn’t blame herself.”

“No, she shouldn’t.” Olenna pins him in place with her stare. “That doesn’t change the fact that she does, and it doesn’t change the fact that she spent the last five years trying to somehow make up for it. That girl has spent all of her energy, heart, and soul making your design a reality and you think you can turn up to see it succeed without putting in any of the work yourself?”

“The design, the execution, the launch–it was all intended to be Brienne’s. I just came up with the idea.” He closes his eyes and takes a calming breath. “I’m not here to take credit for _Oathkeeper, _I just want to see it come to life.” 

“Were you too cowardly to ask permission?” Olenna asks. “Or did you just think it beneath you?”

That rankles, but he knows she’s right. He drops his chin and looks away from her. “You know it’s the former.”

“Listen,” Olenna says, tipping his chin up with her cane. “You may think you’re fooling people with this tall tale that you’re back for your project, but I assure you, you’re not. We all know you too well for that, young man.” 

Jaime smiles faintly at that. “I haven’t been a young man in quite a while.” An old protest for an old exchange, one he’s had with Olenna a thousand times or more.

“You’re still young to me.” He can see that smile tickling at the corner of her mouth. He was always Olenna’s favorite, other than Brienne, of course. He’s missed the old bat, even with her sharp tongue and even sharper gaze. “You still owe her an explanation for why you left.”

“She knows why I left.” She must know why. What good is a one-handed man in the field? He would only have held her back and slowed her down. She would’ve come to resent him, and he could stand that even less than he could stand her absence.

“I don’t think she does,” Olenna tells him, a gentleness to her still-sharp tone. “She looks at you like you’re a ghost, like she’s afraid if she touches you, you’ll evaporate into thin air. Again.”

“I’m here,” Jaime says firmly. 

“Why?”

“Because the last five years have been the worst of my life,” Jaime admits, confesses. “Because I know now that I was a selfish ass to leave her when I wasn’t even conscious enough to have one of our real screaming matches about it.”

“She wouldn’t have fought you,” Olenna tells him sadly. “She would have let you go, if that’s what you really wanted.”

“Maybe that’s why I had to leave.” Jaime fusses with the skin above his prosthetic. “I wanted her to fight with me. For me.”

“You know that’s a lie.” She doesn’t say it cruelly, but it is blunt in true Olenna style. “Don’t pretend you weren’t being a coward, not to me.”

Jaime winces. She’s right. He’s come up with a thousand justifications over the years for why he didn’t call her, why he didn’t chase her down.

“Brienne loved you too much.” Jaime thinks there might be a sheen of tears in Olenna’s eyes. “She loved you too much to see you look at her with anger and blame. You gave her no reason to expect anything else.”

“Loved me?”

Olenna taps his cheek, not a half-hearted slap, but not a kind pat either. “You have to earn her trust back.” She drops her hand from his face. “You haven’t lost her completely, not yet, but you will if you don’t get off your sorry ass and try.”

She leaves him with another sharp knock of her cane, this time to his ankle.

He knows it won’t help for him to bang his head against the wall, but it doesn’t stop the urge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if people don't like olenna, i will, naturally, have to go into hiding. <3
> 
> (that's a joke. you're allowed to think i oversold/underdelivered. i never claimed to be a comedy writer.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will note the rating change. There are more notes about that at the end of the chapter. 
> 
> ...
> 
> :D
> 
> Thank you to bethanyactually for the beta as always :) Any remaining mistakes are mine.

When Brienne walks into the living room, the entire team less Jaime is sitting around the television, but every single head whips around to stare at her. Raised eyebrows and dubious expressions abound, save Catelyn who looks concerned; but then, that’s a pretty typical expression for Catelyn. 

“Hey guys,” she says, trying to walk as easily as she can to perch on the arm of the sofa. “How are things shaping up?”

“Did you literally just ask us about the weather?” Arya deadpans.

“I asked you about our work,” Brienne says pointedly. “Is there something more important than the biggest weather event to strike Westeros in the past fifty years?”

“No,” Arya mutters, looking back at the TV.

“There’s another supercell forming thirty to forty miles away near Fawnton,” Sandor offers.

“Does it look promising for rotation?”

“Considering how this system has been so far? Pretty much any cell is.”

Brienne is on the cusp of responding when Jaime strolls into the room, dressed in familiar clothes, holding his favorite of Olenna’s coffee mugs. Gods, she’s missed him. It sucks. It sucks admitting it to herself. Repression only works so far; Hyle had helped with that, but he’s gone and Jaime’s right in front of her looking like the best of her worst ideas. 

The voice of Tywin Lannister sounds from behind her, pouring out of Olenna’s TV, yanking her out of her reverie. She watches Jaime and the way his face goes tight, knuckles white around the mug in his hand. She doesn’t miss the look in his eyes.

She turns to face her team again. “Turn it off,” she says.

“What?” Arya asks with a mutinous expression. “Maybe if we listen to him we’ll get the real story of how his team has a copy of _your_ de--”

“I said to turn it off,” Brienne interrupts her. 

She refuses to break eye contact with Arya until someone shuts the TV off. She looks up to find Podrick with the remote in hand. Good kid. “Thank you,” she says tightly. “We’re leaving in half an hour. Do whatever you need to do to be ready.” 

She leaves before anyone can complain or question her, brushing past Jaime and walking through the kitchen and out the back door. She sucks in a deep breath of warm, humid air as she makes her way down the small path to Olenna’s series of elaborate wind chimes and windmills. 

“Hey.”

She startles and turns to find Jaime standing at the top of the steps. 

“Can I?” he asks. 

She nods, shoving her hands into her pockets as he makes his way to her. 

“She’s added a lot since the last time I was here,” he says, nodding to the contraptions.

“Yeah,” Brienne agrees. “It keeps her busy...and I think she likes ogling the workmen.”

Jaime laughs, easy and light. The wind ruffles his hair. It curls gently around his ears, just like it used to, the humid summer air making it wilder than normal. He turns to look at her. She should be embarrassed that he finds her already peering at him, but there’s so little use in embarrassment between the two of them. 

“I texted Tyrion,” he says abruptly. Her confusion must show on her face because he follows quickly with, “To see if he has any idea how Tywin got my specs. I can only think it happened when I was in the hospital. It took two years before I was willing to look at my old work, and even then--”

“Do you think Tyrion will know anything?”

Jaime shrugs. “He may not know exactly what happened, but he’s friends with the head of security for the Lannisters. A good night of hard drinking and he may be able to weasel something out of him.”

“Do you really think your own father stole your work?” Brienne asks, hating that she has to doubt him at all, but if she doesn’t ask--

“I think that Tywin cares more about the money and recognition than he ever cared about me or my wishes,” Jaime says sharply. “My name is on the research. If he filed a patent in my name--” 

“Then if he launched it, he would effectively cut my team--me--out of the story. all of the glory and praise would go to Lannister Corp and I would have to stop my own research with Oathkeeper because of the patent.”

“Yep,” Jaime says, popping the ‘p’. “I assume he would stop you before you even tried, except that it’s more likely he doesn’t think it will work and he would be embarrassed to cause an uproar with some barebones team of stormchasers over technology that isn’t effective. He’s all too aware of the fact that Olenna chooses to spend her time ogling handymen on her two hundred acres. It may be an ugly battle if he does manage to launch before we do, but he’ll have something to justify the bloodbath between the Tyrell and Lannister legal camps.”

“But couldn’t you just come forward to say your research was intended for my use?” Brienne asks.

“That’s the part I can’t quite pull together,” Jaime says. “Honestly? I haven’t spoken to Tywin since I left the hospital. I’m sure he knows that I’m merely a lowly weatherman now, and I’m also certain he knows how rigorously I avoid involvement in stormchasing. PTSD is a real bitch.” He shakes his head. “At any rate, I assume he thinks _I_ won’t care. He just doesn’t want the firestorm from Olenna on your behalf. He didn’t count on me being in your camp as well.” 

“Fuck,” Brienne says. 

“Couldn’t agree more.” He turns to face her fully. “I know this sounds insane, but--”

“Your dad is insane,” Brienne interrupts him. “Or at least he’s a megalomaniac who can’t stand the idea of something this groundbreaking being within his grasp and not getting the attention for it. I think the idea that you would achieve something with the Lannister name and give him no credit would infuriate him.”

“The rest of the team--”

Brienne shrugs. “The rest of the team, save Catelyn and Sandor, don’t know your dad. Catelyn will believe you. Sandor...well, Sandor is Sandor. He didn’t like you before you--” she stops herself just short of saying ‘broke my heart.’ “Before you left.”

“I don’t think he ever will,” Jaime says. 

Part of Brienne desperately wants to say, ‘especially not when you leave again.’ She has to keep reminding herself that he’s only here for this short period of time before he goes back to the station and his laser pointer and mid-range suits and tidy haircuts. 

She has to.

“That’s your burden to bear,” she says instead. 

“And a heavy one it is,” he says mournfully with a soft smile. 

She rolls her eyes.

“When we get back on the road--” he shifts. “I know--well--if you want, you can just take my truck. I don’t know who you normally ride with--”

“It’s fine,” she interrupts him. “We can ride together. You know what you’re doing and you’re not going to shy away from what needs to be done.”

He looks at her for a very long moment, silent and searching for something before blinking, the fog lifting.

“Whatever you say, ser.”

\--

With Brienne on his side, it’s easier to ignore how much everyone other than Catelyn and maybe Peck hates him. Sandor won’t pull his intestines out through his mouth with Brienne there, which is of some comfort. No one says anything when he and Brienne walk to his truck together, or when he tosses her the keys and climbs into the passenger side of the cab. 

She picks up the CB immediately. “What direction should we approach from, Josmyn?”

“We should head south until we’re about fifteen miles from Mistwood and then cut north,” Peck’s voice crackles over the radio.

“Thanks.”

Brienne cranks the ignition and rolls down the window, sticking her hand out to signal everyone to head out. He watches in the rearview mirror as they all form a neat line out of Olenna’s drive. He knows they’ll wait on the road for him and Brienne to take the lead. 

“You pick the music,” he offers once they’re on the road.

She lifts an eyebrow. 

He rolls his eyes. “Pick something that sounds like road trip music instead of a funeral dirge.”

“I thought you said I could pick.”

“And I know good and damn well you’ve got it in you to pick something _fun_.”

She huffs but plugs the aux cord into her phone. It takes a couple of minutes, but finally, the sound of an embarrassingly bad popular rock band from his teen years pours out of his sound system. 

“I liked this in _high school_,” he says, laughing. 

She’s laughing, too. “Hey, I’m just trying to make you happy. I can absolutely switch it to the music I listened to in high school.”

He knows all too well the plaintive, acoustic wailing she listened to in her teen years. “Fine.”

He glances over to see her looking all too smug in the presence of the trite music, but he finds himself smiling anyway. 

The silence is almost unsettlingly easy, only broken by observations of the storm still forming in the distance. Even more than the sight itself, the excitement in Brienne’s voice about how rapidly the updraft rises makes the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end, the familiar rush of adrenaline flooding his body in anticipation of what’s to come. 

They’re no more than ten miles outside of Mistwood when Sandor’s voice crackles over the radio, telling them there’s evidence of strong rotation seven miles north-northwest, traveling northeast about twenty-five miles per hour. 

Brienne takes a big breath, heavy enough he can hear it. “Okay, everyone, get ready.”

Jaime doesn’t even need to ask what she needs. Josmyn’s voice chimes in with the best directions he can see to navigate them ahead of the storm as quickly as possible while Catelyn, presumably, directs the rest of the crew to a near-enough field to be in communication but remain out of the projected path.

His heart feels like it might pound out of his chest by the time they turn into the narrow dirt road and the sky opens up with a deluge of hail. 

“_Shit_,” Brienne says quietly next to him, he glances over to see her looking up. 

He follows her gaze to see the sky rolling angrily, beginning to rotate just ahead. “_Shit_.”

She keeps driving, though, even as he calls her name. 

“This is close enough!” he all but shouts at her. 

She blinks but slams on the brakes and throws the truck into park. 

He helps her unstrap _Oathkeeper_ from the truck bed as much as he can, which isn’t much with only one, shaking hand. Still, they manage to get it in the middle of the road. They’ve backed up no more than a half mile when a tree branch is flung out of nowhere, before the funnel is even in sight, knocking the canister over, hundreds of plastic sensors scattering into the mud as it rolls into the ditch. 

“No no no no no,” Brienne chants next to him. 

The funnel passes by not even ten seconds later, felling everything in its path as it roars onward and shocking Jaime like a punch to the gut. No matter how many times he sees one, each time is somehow like the first time, especially when they’re far too close for comfort. 

Brienne presses on the gas hard enough to peel out in the mud before shooting forward, toward the mess of branches and the gods know what else. She pushes the brakes nearly as hard and barrels out the door of the truck before he even has time to catch his breath. He stares at her as she crouches down over and over, gathering muddy plastic sensors among the debris. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” he yells. 

“We only have two moreprototypes left!” she yells back at him, fruitlessly gathering the wet plastic orbs in her arms as they slip out just as quickly as she can add them. 

“Exactly!” he shouts, closing the distance between them. “We have two more chances.” 

“We’re out of money! If we don’t do this now, that’s it. It’s _over_!”

“Why are you doing this? There are fucking powerlines everywhere. Get back in the truck!”

“The faster you help me the faster we can leave.”

He grabs her arm, ignoring the mutinous expression on her face. He knows if she didn’t have an armful of those stupid little robots she would punch him. He wouldn’t entirely blame her.

“Either help me or get out of my way,” she all but snarls at him.

“I didn’t go through all the trouble of coming back to watch you get yourself killed by a downed powerline.” 

“No, you just came back for a godsdamned science project!”

“We both know that’s not why I’m back.”

“Then why are you?”

He has no words for it. All he knows is surging forward, his hands cupping her cheeks and his mouth slamming into her, teeth biting into his own lips and hers. It’s painful, the whole fucking thing is painful, the last five _years_ have been painful. 

Then it’s everything. It’s her arms around his back, fingers digging so hard into his muscles he thinks he might bruise. It’s her mouth opening to his, their tongues tangling together, the heat of her mouth against the cool rain pouring down. It’s the familiar way their bodies slot together, the fire in his veins, the arousal that burns through him. 

She shoves him, his back colliding with the side of his truck. It almost knocks the wind out of him, but it feels good. It feels so good, her firm body against his. He’s hard, grinding against her thigh. She moans and lets go of him with one hand, fumbling behind them. He has no idea what’s happening, can’t care, until he feels the door to the cab being pulled against his back. 

He jerks away from her, breathing heavy, staring at her, scared of--if this is real, if this is happening, if this is stupid and disastrous. But then she pulls him to her and turns them, tugging him on top of her as she shifts back to lie on the bench seat. 

The feeling of being between her thighs is so familiar it _aches_. 

She’s the one that reaches between them to unbutton and unzip his jeans, slipping her hand beneath the waist of his underwear to grip his cock. He hisses at the coolness of her palm, chilled from the rain, but thrusts into her grasp anyway, burying his face in her neck. He has the presence of mind slide one of his hands beneath her shirt to palm one of her breasts, the nipple already peaked. She arches into the touch with a whimper. 

“Gods,” she pants, tilting her hips to rub against his leg, seeking out a counterpoint to the rhythm of her hand stroking him. 

He abandons her breast to reach between them, yanking at the button and zipper of her jeans, shoving his hand inside without preamble to find her already wet, and not from the rain. He’s unpracticed and fumbles, trying to touch her the way he remembers she likes, but his left hand is awkward at best and her hand on him is distracting on top of it. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, shifting, trying to brace his right arm on the back of the seat and his foot on the floorboard to get a better angle with his left hand. “Fuck this fucking hand.” 

Brienne lets go of his cock, placing both of her hands on his shoulders and pushing him away. He wants to _scream_ in frustration, but all she does is shove her jeans off her hips, wriggling the wet denim down her legs as far they’ll go. She gives him a look that makes his breath catch in his chest for reasons he doesn’t have time to wonder over before she turns onto her stomach. 

She braces herself on her elbows and knees, lifting her hips toward him. His breath shudders out of him, a groan tearing out of his chest.

“Brienne?” he asks, voice shaking and husky. 

She grabs his hand from where it’s come to rest on her hip and brings it to her cunt. Looking over her shoulder she says, “I want you.” 

“Fuck,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut, fingers finding her clit. “You’re sure?” he asks before he completely loses his mind.

“Fuck you,” she says through gritted teeth. “Yes.”

She whimpers when he moves his hand away from her to grasp his cock, guiding it inside. He doesn’t know who makes the noise, or if they both do, all he knows is that he’s surrounded by a sound that feels like a supernova in his chest. It’s only by the grace of the seven that he doesn’t come at the grasp of her cunt on his aching cock. 

It’s so much; the collision of their bodies, the familiar way they move together like muscle memory, and yet the feeling of it shocks him to the marrow of his bones, like something he’s never felt before in his life. It’s not the five years of only fumbling at his own cock with his left hand, it’s that it’s _Brienne. _It’s _them_. 

He feels the brush of her fingertips against where their bodies meet as she strokes her own clit until she comes with a primal noise, biting down on her arm. His own orgasm punches the air out of his lungs, leaving him choking on a silent cry. 

He holds her to him, keeping their bodies pressed tight as the aftershocks rack his body and she squeezes him.

Finally, he pulls out, resting back on his calves and allowing Brienne to shift over until she can sit-up. 

“I thought there was no way it was as good as I remembered it but..._fuck_.” He turns his head to look at her, flushed red, the scar on her cheek a stark white starburst, her lips faintly trembling and swollen from his teeth and hers. “Or was that better than it used to be?”

“Gods,” she says, looking over at him, her eyes still a touch wild and hungry. “If it was always that good, how did we ever get anything accomplished?” 

The laughter barks out of him. It’s like every coiled-up, dark, twisted emotion that’s poisoned him since the accident is leaching from his veins. Brienne snorts, too, shaking her head. 

He tucks himself back into his wet jeans with a grimace while Brienne wriggles her own back up her hips, no happier or more easily. 

“This isn’t actually why I came back,” Jaime says, watching her zip up.

“No?” Brienne lifts her eyebrows, skeptical but not mad. 

“No,” he slumps down. “I would never try to--I didn’t want to ruin your relationship. If I’m honest, I didn’t think you would actually speak to me.” 

“Then why? If it wasn’t just for _Oathkeeper_?”

“My therapist suggested--well, she _told_ me, I would never get well until I got closure. She said I had to think of it like an open wound that never got stitched.”

“Oh.”

“I came back to apologize,” he says. “If nothing else, you deserved that much from me. The way I acted--it was unforgivable, and I know that, but you still deserve an apology. My therapist told me I don’t know _how_ many times that depression can be really myopic. I was so fucking angry at the universe, at myself, at my missing hand and the pain I was in--I had no space to think about anyone else.

“I’m not going to pretend I was only a victim here. I know you were going through the same thing and you reacted a lot better than I did. But I finally know what I’m apologizing for. I’m sorry I didn’t handle it better. I’m sorry it took me so long to work up the courage to face you again. I’m so sorry it took me so long to realize I needed to say it.”

“Thank you,” Brienne says shakily.

Jaime thinks there’s a sheen of tears in her eyes. 

“Can we--” she starts, voice still quavering. “Can we shelve this until after the launch? I appreciate it and,” she gestures between them, “this was obviously--_well._, But--I can’t…”

“Yeah,” he agrees, stomach sinking a little, even if it makes sense. 

“I have to focus,” she explains. “I’ve been working on this for so long. I can’t afford to get distracted by my messy romantic history now.”

“I get it, trust me,” he says. “We should probably--” he tips his head to the front cab.

Brienne looks, face paling. Confused, Jaime follows her eye line to see the CB radio on his dash.

_Oh, fuckity fuck_.

“How much do you think they heard?” she asks.

“I would wager Catelyn used her Mom Voice on them around the time we started screaming about more than the tornado.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“Come on,” he says, tapping her thigh with his prosthetic. “Might as well face the music sooner rather than later.”

She breathes out heavily but opens the door, stepping out into the rain to move to the front cab and after a beat, he does the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of notes before there are questions:  
1) Assume Brienne is on long-term birth control of some sort. Babies are not a thing in this 'verse;  
2) I'm usually so conscientious about sensible sex in fics! But my soul needed something a little down, dirty, filthy and raw. ...Voila!;  
3) They'll be fine.


	8. chapter 8!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I can't believe it either. I wrote enough words for a chapter! We're only two important chapters from this fic being over! Maybe it'll happen!
> 
> I know a few people have messaged me on Tumblr about my writing, so, in short: the last 12 months have been bizarre in terms of my health. The broken foot, the surgery for other things, then I got married and had a family health crisis, and now the latest thing is that I have double vision 80% of the time and am getting a lot of fun brain scans and next up is a lumbar puncture! During this pandemic! 
> 
> Basically: my brain has been in a revolt since November of 2019 and it's touch and go. Hence, my writing slowing down and me not posting as much. But I'm hoping for answers soon, and if not answers, maybe I'll just push through it. WHO CAN SAY!
> 
> I hope you'll all come back when I do post. I miss talking to people and writing. <3
> 
> ENJOY?

When Brienne and Jaime pull into the field where the rest of the team is set up, the look on Catelyn’s face makes her stomach sink to her feet. She gets a glorious fifteen minutes to go over the data Sandor gathered, minimal though it is, before Catelyn sweeps in and says, “Why don’t you ride with me to the motel.”

It’s not a request so much as a motherly command. 

Catelyn doesn’t bother lulling Brienne into a false sense of security. “I managed to turn off the radios after the first moan made it obvious what was happening,” she says mildly, putting on her turn signal before easing onto the highway.

“Thank you.” Brienne turns to look out the window, idly watching the fields of soy and hay flash by in streaks of green and gold. 

“You’ve got a hickey on your neck,” Catelyn says, interrupting Brienne’s reverie.

Brienne blanches, dreading the judgmental expression she expects to find on her face, but she’s watching the road. “I…”

“You’re a grown woman. I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to let you know that no one is ignorant of what’s going on. I’ve always been here for you, and I will always be here for you, no matter what. If you need to talk about Jaime, nothing you say will change my respect or love for you.”

In a rush, tears flood Brienne’s eyes. She wants nothing more than to curl into Catelyn and cry on her shoulder about boys and hopes and dreams and fears and the unknown and _Jaime_. 

“Did you know?”

“Did I know what?”

“That if he came back--” she hesitates, hating the guilt that sits heavy in her gut. “That if he came back it would be like this. That we wouldn’t be able to stop.”

“Can’t you?” Catelyn looks away from the road just long enough to lift an eyebrow at Brienne, one that says it more clearly than words ever could: _take responsibility for your choices._

“It doesn’t feel like it.” Brienne looks down at her hands, fingers locked together in a white-knuckled grip. “It’s like I see him and my entire body lights up. I know it’s stupid, but it feels like a storm system. Hot, humid air meets cool, dry air and everything explodes. It’s been _years_. It’s been years, and it never stops. Every single time it’s like this.”

Catelyn sighs. “I didn’t have this with Ned. I’ve never had what you have with Jaime. I don’t think many people can claim to. Just...be careful. You were _engaged _to someone else less than twelve hours ago. Hyle left, and it took you and Jaime a hot minute to do exactly what you’ve always done, you just exchanged the back of a van for the back of a truck..”

Brienne flushes a furious shade of pink. “He’s been--” she stops herself before saying anything about Jaime’s therapy or mental health work, knowing it’s not hers to share. “We talked before we came back. We’re going to talk about…everything.” 

“Good, but don’t forget the last five years. Once the heat cools again, the pain will still be there. He’ll still have left, even if he came back. He may leave again once we’re done. One ill-advised roll in the hay isn’t going to make any of this easier.”

“I know.”

“I know you know,” Catelyn says gently, reaching over to set a comforting hand on Brienne’s knee, “but I wouldn’t be a very good friend if I didn’t say it.”

\--

Catelyn storms toward him looking like a dragon queen of lore, her red hair billowing around her like fire. It shouldn’t surprise him that her first act is to smack him on the shoulder. 

“Hey!” 

“What in the name of all seven gods were you thinking?” 

“I--”

“You _weren’t_,” Cat interrupts him. 

“Can I explain?” 

Cat’s eyes narrow but she waits, crossing her arms in front of her. 

Jaime stares at her helplessly, his brain coming to a grinding halt as he tries to think of how to put into words what happened between him and Brienne. “It wasn’t supposed to happen,” he finally says. 

“That much was clear.”

Jaime slides his hands into his hair, gripping tightly. “Can we--” he gestures behind him toward his truck. 

Catelyn doesn’t relax, but she nods curtly and walks around him toward the passenger side. By the time Jaime hauls himself inside, she’s already turned in the seat, her arm along the back, and a look on her face that’s equal parts _disappointed parent_ and _angry friend_.

He grips the steering wheel, grateful for something to ground him. “I don’t think you’ll be happy with me, but I’m going to try and explain anyway.”

“Okay.”

“I didn’t come back intending to break up Brienne and Hyle, I really didn’t,” Jaime says, almost pleading with Catelyn to believe him. “I’ve been seeing a therapist for a few years now. I fell into some--some bad habits during rehab and it got to a point where--where I had to do _something_. But no matter how much--it was always _Brienne_,” he says helplessly. 

He startles when Catelyn’s hand cups his shoulder, her thumb rubbing a firm, comforting circle into the muscle. He looks up at her, her gentle blue eyes and the concerned furrow between her brows, and he doesn’t know how he got through the past five years without this team and without the two most important women in his life. 

“I was an asshole,” he says. “Worse than an asshole. I owed her a real apology, face-to-face, one that she knew meant I understood exactly what I did wrong. But I saw her and it’s --”

“Like a hurricane,” she finishes for him. 

“Wrong storm system, right idea.”

“She said the same,” Cat says with an air of resignation. “You still shouldn’t have--”

“I know,” he interrupts her. “I kissed her and the minute we touched it was all over. I don’t think either of us knew how to stop. I didn’t, and..”

“She said she initiated…”

“Yeah.”

Catelyn sighs. “I don’t want either of you to be hurt again.” She pauses and then says, “And _I_ don’t want to lose you again, either.”

Jaime’s chest aches and all he wants is to have Cat wrap him up in one of her hugs. Sometimes, they were the only things that made him feel safe.

“I’m not going to mess it up this time,” he swears. “Or I’m going to do my best not to. The gods know I’m a mess, but I’m tired of setting fire to my own happiness.”

Catelyn’s brow is wrinkled in concern. 

“I’m tired of being alone,” he says quietly. 

She sighs, a tired and sad sound, and reaches for him pulling him by a hand around his neck into a hug, awkward though it may be in the cab of the truck, and presses a kiss to his temple.

\--

Between the moue of Arya’s mouth, the choking worry in Podrick’s eyes, and the promise of violence tight in Sandor’s shoulders, all Brienne wants is to be _left alone_. She can’t even be angry about her team caring so much about her sex life, because they were there when Jaime left and they know it will never be just about her sex life. 

But that doesn’t mean she has to stay for a round-robin discussion about her and Jaime’s brief moment of insanity. 

She’s not sure if it’s Catelyn’s intervention or if they couldn’t agree about who would confront her, but either way, she manages to tuck herself into a shady corner on the other side of a camper. She has every intention of working, but somehow she finds herself clicking mindlessly through some useless website about which layer cake and zodiac pairing her true self is. 

Someone clears their throat and Brienne looks up from the computer to find Jaime, hand stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, an uncertain look on his face until he reads the welcome in her expression. He wanders over to her, nearly ambling, but she can see the slight hitch in his gait that belies his continuing fear of rejection.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly. 

She lifts an eyebrow. “Are _you_ okay?” 

He can’t quite prevent the flinch of surprise. Brienne watches as a kaleidoscope of emotions swirl over this face.

“When was the last time someone asked you that?” she asks. 

“Other than my therapist?” Jaime’s tone is strangely staccato and flat. “I can’t remember.”

It’s like being punched in the chest. It’s not as if she didn’t know, but it all coalesces in that one answer. 

Jaime didn’t just leave her; Jaime left his entire family. A found family, sure, but the only one that had ever been a true family to him. He’d gone it alone, no friends, no family, no _her_. She knows there’s been no one else; somewhere deep inside her, she feels it as surely as anything. She also knows Tywin Lannister isn’t interested in his son’s wel-being, and that neither of his siblings would be inclined to take care of anyone, not even their own brother. 

She also knows Jaime, and whether he’s in pain and angry or he’s happy, no version of him trusts easily. 

She pats the ground and he folds his legs to sit near enough she can feel his warmth. 

“Was Tyrion around, at least?”

“In so much as Tyrion has the capacity to be there for anyone,” he answers, letting his head loll against his shoulders. “He’s the younger brother.” 

“You’re not children anymore.” She can’t quite keep the judgment out of her voice. “You needed his help this time. Anyone should--”

“I’ve told you about my family.” He tilts his face toward her and shrugs, the resignation not even tinged with sadness anymore, just with acceptance. “They are what they are.”

Her brows draw into a deep furrow. “That doesn’t make it right.”

He smiles, a half-smile laced with such fondness it almost hurts. “No. It doesn’t.”

“I should have--”

Jaime cuts her off. “You did exactly what you should have. You didn’t deserve that from me and you should have left.”

She shakes her head, but he reaches out and tangles his fingers through hers, halting her protest with a firm squeeze.

“Later,” he says. “When we have time and actual privacy.” He nods toward where the group is likely lurking on the other side of the camper. 

She knows it was her request that they shelve the deeper discussions until after the system; she knows it’s the right choice, but she just -- she wants _something_ to be settled again. 

He leans up and kisses the wrinkle between her eyebrows, hesitating before carefully pressing his lips to her own. She sighs into it, flowing into the embrace like muscle memory. 

She ducks her head first, but instead of pulling away, he settles back and rests his head against her shoulder, keeping his fingers laced with hers. 

She has no idea how long they sit that way, only that when Catelyn says her name, she startles like waking from a nap. She looks over to find Catelyn and the rest of them, each of them pale and shaken looking. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, the panic jolting through her and making every hair on her body lift on end. 

“We got an alert over the radio,” Catelyn says, her voice and hands trembling. “There’s a storm headed straight for Maidenpool…”

Brienne has no idea what she says after that, the feeling that swamps her is exactly like when she would dive off the cliffs as a child. The water swallowing her and shutting out everything else, almost strangling her with its power, hollowing out her ears and leaving her breathless and terrified for a moment. Except, of course, this isn’t the sea and she hasn’t thrown herself from a cliff with a shriek of glee, this is her nightmare come to life again. 

Again. 

Again. 

_No no no no not Olenna I can’t lose another person to these fucking storms no no not Olenna not Olenna not Olenna no--_

Jaime crowds her vision, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek. The scarred one; the one gnarled and hideous because of one of these godsdamned storms; the one she can barely feel, she can’t even feel the warmth of his palm--

“Brienne,” he says emphatically, pressing his hand against her skin. “Come back. Look at me.” He waits, searching her eyes and then nodding shortly. “Breathe with me, okay?” 

And then he breathes in deeply, audibly and holds it before slowly breathing out. She watches his chest move, feeling her own hiccup with panic, but he just keeps breathing, holding her gaze until she finds herself matching the rhythm, as if by muscle memory. 

His face relaxes minutely; she wonders if anyone else would notice, anyone but her. 

“We’re going back,” he says calmly in time with his breathing. “We both know the odds are--”

She opens her mouth to interrupt him, _fuck the odds, the odds didn’t save her mom, didn’t save Galladon or Arianne or Alyssane, the odds can go--_

“The _odds_,” he cuts her off before she can make a noise, “are that she’s fine. The phone lines are always tied up after an emergency. It’s going to be okay.”

He’s so steady, so sure, that she nearly believes him. 

“I--” she starts; she has no idea what she means to say because her throat squeezes shut, choking off any sound.

He slides his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head. He hesitates, indecision tightening his face before he leans in and presses a firm kiss to her mouth. It makes her want to cry for some reason. 

When he pulls away, he drops his hand and turns to the team. “You don’t have to come with us. You can go to a motel, but we have to--”

“Have you lost your fuckin’ mind?” Sandor growls. “We’re not letting Brienne go without us.” 

Jaime nods curtly before turning back to her. “I’m driving.”

All she can do is nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thank you as always to bethanyactually for holding my hand and being a great friend and beta


	9. chapter nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It _liiiiiiiiives_.
> 
> Olenna drops some mics and things get emotional.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone going to read this anymore? HARD TO SAY. But here is chapter 9 at last. 
> 
> Thank you to slipsthrufingers for giving me a quick beta. Any errors or issues are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> Please enjoy. I really hope you enjoy.

It’s been years since Jaime has been as upset about his hand as he is now. He would give nearly anything to hold Brienne’s hand the entire drive back to Maidenpool. Brienne is as silent as the Stranger in the passenger seat, her hands clasped and held between her thighs, biceps and forearms taught, the muscles there standing out in stark relief from the tension through her entire body. She’s got her full lower lip between her teeth, biting it out of nervous habit. 

He reaches over and carefully sets his prosthetic on her thigh; she startles anyway. She looks at him, wild-eyed, as frightened, if not more so, than he’s ever seen her. “You’ll make your lip bleed.”

She releases her lip from the bite. It looks like it already stings. “How much further?”

“It’s hard to tell if we don’t know how much damage there is and where on the road to Maidenpool it will be,” he says. “Another hour, maybe.”

Her left leg jiggles beneath his prosthetic, but he doesn’t try to stop her. 

\--

Brienne does everything she can to keep her breathing even as they drive through the debris damage on the outskirts of Maidenpool. The damage isn’t too horrifying: some roofs half-missing, downed trees and power lines, but nothing that rises to the level of what she would normally find terrifying.

But all she can think is a litany of Olenna’s name and flashing images of her trapped beneath a tree, or a weak wall crushing her in her bed, her body at the foot of the stairs after losing her footing fleeing for the shelter, or even just her bloody and broken body, cold to the touch, or--

She’s near to hyperventilating by the time they pull up outside of the house, barreling out of the truck before it’s fully stopped, running for the front door--

Olenna opens the door before she reaches it, looking no worse for wear. Brienne doesn’t give her a chance to say a word before she wraps her in an embrace, deeply inhaling the jasmine and lemon that always clings to Olenna.

“If you don’t loosen your hold, you’ll accomplish what the storm didn’t.” Brienne lets go immediately, stepping back and cupping Olenna’s face in her hands, stroking her hair and all but checking her every bone for breaks. “That’s enough,” Olenna says, not sharply but firmly. “Come inside and sit down before you faint.”

It seems wrong, somehow, that Olenna’s house is untouched. It looks the same as when Brienne left it hours ago; through the window, she can see limbs strewn about the yard, the fence askew in places, a shingle or two flung just within eyesight. All of the signs of a severe thunderstorm, but not a tornado.

“It was miles away from here,” Olenna confirms, leading the way into her kitchen. She gestures for Brienne to sit and then looks over Brienne’s shoulder. Brienne follows her line of sight to find Jaime lingering near the doorway, clearly unsure if he should follow or hang back. She smiles, warm and appreciative, but gives her head a soft shake. He smiles back and nods, drifting away to the rest of the team milling around the front room. “I would offer to start a pot of coffee, but the power’s out.”

“I don’t want--” Brienne starts, but chokes on the lump in her throat; tears flood her eyes, blurring Olenna’s face and then the tiles of the backsplash, turning them a swirling blend of dark grey and white, like the gentle clouds before a summer shower.

Olenna sighs, grabbing her by the arm and guiding her to the breakfast table, pushing her down into a chair. She closes her eyes against the sight of Olenna moving a chair closer; it might be worse without looking. All she knows is the familiar scent of Olenna’s perfume and soap, the familiar soft sigh that moves in time to the squeeze of her hand over Brienne’s.

“How many storms have you seen?” she asks softly.

“I don’t know.”

“No you wouldn’t. The answer is countless and, because of that, you’ve seen how unpredictable they are. You can’t stop people from being hurt by the storms, all you can do is understand them and, perhaps, warn people more accurately. But this,” she says with an even more emphatic squeeze. “This is not healthy and it’s not useful. You’re not living, my dear. You’re waiting.”

The tears spill down her cheeks. She turns her face to the side, hiding from the vague sounds of the rest of the team moving around on the porch and in the front room, the hushed conversation and heavy footfalls of people who followed her here without hesitation, without judgment.

“I can’t lose you,” she finally murmurs, voice rough with tears. 

“Oh, my dear.” Olenna’s hand lifts to cup her cheek and turn her face back to look at her. “I’ve already passed the ninety year hump, not even you can stop time. I am hale and hearty now, but time will find me, likely before a storm will.”

Brienne shakes her head, wishing she could tell Olenna to shut up, wishing it wasn’t true. “What if I don’t get to say goodbye?” she whispers. 

“Have you ever ended a phone call without telling me you love me?” 

“No.”

“Have you ever left my house without a hug and a promise to return?” 

“No.”

“Then you have said all I need to hear,” Olenna says. “No one can predict what comes next. Do you think I don’t worry every time you hie off that you’ll meet some horrible fate driving headfirst into danger with no care for your safety?”

“I care about my safety,” she protests quietly. 

“No.” Olenna skewers her with a look. “You care for your team’s safety, but you?” She doesn’t need to finish the thought; Brienne winces. “I’m not asking you to change, dear, only to consider that no one knows what’s coming around the bend. All we can do is love each other now and enjoy every second we have.”

It’s not good enough. It’s never been good enough. Sometimes her only comfort in life is that her father moved far away from where the storm systems roll through every year. That she can’t convince Olenna to do so occupies far too much of her time. 

“I just wish you would follow dad and--”

Olenna clucks her tongue, her face transforming into something harder, unforgiving. “And go where? North where a blizzard could get me? West where earthquakes fell entire cliffs? Further east where the cyclones target every year?” She shakes her head. “Even if I can’t prevent them from ruling yours, I won’t let your unreasonable fears rule mine.” 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. It’s only--” her words choke in her throat, a lump of emotion swelling and cutting them off. 

“I know,” Olenna says, her tone still more clipped than Brienne is accustomed to. “But I could be in a car accident tomorrow. I could have a stroke. I could fall down my own stairs. Anything could happen, and you need to accept that. The tornadoes aren’t after you; they aren’t the villain of this piece, no matter how much easier it would be if they were.”

\--

Olenna makes dinner for everyone before sending them on their way once more. Whatever she said has left Brienne quiet on the ride back to Fawnton-- not the same quiet anxiety of the drive there, but the kind that leaves the person shrouded in a fog of their own thoughts.

Jaime can’t help but glance at her every few minutes, wishing more than anything he could still read her as he once did. When they get to the motel, she tosses him a flat thank you and hops out of the truck without a backward glance. 

He moves as if on autopilot: paying for a room for the night, dragging his few things up the stairs on heavy legs, showering under pitiful water pressure that leaves him feeling barely cleaner than when he climbed in. He plugs the charger for his phone in when he’s back in the bedroom, flopping onto the bed and scrolling through the shocking amount of e-mails and texts, too tired to respond to any of them. He’s barely settled on flipping through the news for the day when there’s a light knocking at the door. 

Jaime opens it to find Brienne on the other side, hair shower-damp. She has a shaken look on her face, but there’s no mistaking the question in her eyes. He steps back and pulls the door open wider, inviting her in, relieved for some reason when she steps through the doorway. They hover for a moment before he holds out a hand to her; she takes it, letting him draw her in and kiss her, heavy and searching. He wraps an arm around her waist, stumbling with her to the bed. 

She sits when her knees hit the side of the mattress, gazing up at him with an expression as achingly open and vulnerable as the first time they slept together somewhere other than the back of a van. 

He cups her face in his hand, stroking along her cheek with his thumb. “We can just sleep.”

She shakes her head, dislodging his hand. She peels her shirt off, dropping it beside the bed, leaving her bare from the waist up. “Please.”

He’s never been able to deny her anything. He bends to kiss her again, leaning in until she scoots back on the bed drawing him on top of her with her hands around his shoulders. The wild fuck in the back of his truck was nothing like this; she’s soft beneath his hand, his lips, his body, the only tension in the firming of her muscles as she reacts to his touch. 

She sighs when he kisses his way down her neck to her breast, sucking one of her nipples into his mouth. He’s missed this; he didn’t even know how much until he’s kissed his way past the divot of her navel, hooking his fingers beneath the elastic of her pajama pants and underwear, following the drag of them from her hips to the thatch of hair between her thighs, using his hand to spread her lips to his questing mouth and tongue and teeth. 

He may be ill-at-ease with his left hand now, but he remembers this. She won’t thank him for it or even find it flattering, but the smell of her arousal, the flushed color of her skin, the taste of the wetness that shines between her thighs--it’s just as much a homecoming as any. He’s thankful he seems to remember how she likes it, or that she likes it the same way. He quickly has her gasping and chanting his name like a benediction. 

She winds her hands in his hair, not pulling, just running her fingers through it as she whimpers. She comes with a keening cry, gripping his head, holding him still as she rides his mouth. 

He follows the path of her body at the urging of her hands pulling him up, kissing her, letting her taste her own pleasure on his tongue. She kisses him desperately surging against him, pushing his boxers off his hips with her hands and down his legs with her feet. Taking his cock in hand, she opens her thighs wider and cants her hips toward him. 

He pulls away from her mouth to look down at her, taking in her expression, the sureness and neediness in her eyes. He follows her grasp as she guides him to enter her. He pushes in slowly; her eyes close, neck arching back as a sigh of relief concaves her chest. Her fingers grip his arms painfully. 

She pulls him closer stroke-by-stroke, first with her legs around his hips, then with her arms around his back, until they’re pressed together fully and he’s doing little more than grinding against her. She clings to him; he grips her thigh to anchor himself, buries his face in the juncture of her neck and shoulder and revels in the smell of their bodies coming together again, the heat between them, the slide of their sweat-slick skin, the sound of their labored breaths tangling and weaving with their whimpers of pleasure.

It feels like absolution, as if they’re able to say it with their bodies in ways they’ll never be able to with their mouths. He realizes slowly, like the sun rising on the horizon, that the shuddering against his face isn’t that of pleasure and levers up enough to see the tears trailing from her closed eyes.

He stops, freezing at the sight of it, dread turning his stomach. Her eyes open and the look in them punches the air right out of his lungs. 

She takes her hands from his back and cups his face, pulling him into a tender kiss, perhaps softer than she ever has before. When she tilts her mouth away, it’s only to press her forehead to his and use her legs to pull him into her as she lifts to meet the thrust. 

He comes like that, held in her gentle embrace, her lips capturing his in time with the rhythm of their bodies. He shakes on top of her, his whole body trembling. 

He can’t help it, can’t stop himself from saying, “I never stopped loving you, not for a single second.”

Brienne makes a choking noise, her blunt fingernails pressing into his skin. “I wished every day I could and I just couldn’t.” 

He kisses her with the weight of every bit of pain and loneliness and uncertainty he caused them both. 

“I’m sorry,” he says.

She shakes her head. “Don’t--don’t, not unless--if you’re still going to leave--”

Her voice stutters and stalls around the words, still shaky from release and what lies between them.

“I’m not leaving.” He brushes the damp hair away from her forehead. “I’m not leaving you again. I swear it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have multiple chapters of this already, but the next FWB chapter is already half done. This won’t push We Make the Rules down the list in terms of importance. That one remains top priority until it’s finished.
> 
> Oh! I almost forgot: the title is a Neko Case song that I chose because I’m _hilarious_


End file.
